Nenju
by 3Jane
Summary: Where do happiness and ever after intersect? Post series, complete. FuuMugenJin.
1. Chapter 1

_**Nenju**_

For Paula O'K., for her fantabulous Amalgam web site, and her merry band of Swords and Sunflowers; you folks entertain this lurker no end and set the plot bunny racing. All good things here are strictly due to their school of _Samurai_ _Champloo_-ness, and all errors mine — as it should be. Also, a disclaimer: I don't actually own _Samurai Champloo _or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Chapter titles are also not mine, and are in fact drawn from the haiku of Matsuo Basho (translations by R.H. Blyth); many thanks to Soji, for maintaining the Haiku Poet's Hut web site, where I do my Basho reading and follow Soji's noble quest with great interest.

A/N: This is a post-series tale, so if you've seen - um - all the episodes or have a high tolerance for being confused, you'll be fine. I'm rating this preemptively M, since Mugen (and the author, unfortunately) potty mouth. Plus, since this is _Samurai Champloo_ fun, graphic violence will break out at some point; vases will shatter, sake will spill, and characters will be distracted by imaginary naked women.

* * *

I. _Yes, spring has come_

* * *

Without a doubt, she had the _worst _luck.

And it wasn't as if the gods were being particularly original in her misfortune; this was the — third? No, maybe it was the fourth, there was that time at the beginning with Ryujiro-san in Edo, she'd almost forgotten that — time she'd been held against her will, and the second she'd ended up in a place like this. The last time she'd ended up in a brothel . . . her bodyguards had abandoned her at a crossroads, she remembered, a little smile quirking at her mouth as always when she thought of them these days, and she had been _so_ furious with them. She would have knocked their heads together if they'd been anywhere near her. Or, possibly, pushed them into the river, if there'd been one handy. The looks on their faces, though, when they found her at the whorehouse that same night had nearly made up for it — absolute shock on one, and even the other had let a flicker of what she would have sworn was interest show for an instant before his guard went up again. All hell had broken loose after that, but instead of rescuing her, they'd turned their swords on each other, before coming to a draw . . . again. She'd engineered her own escape and then found the pair in a gambling hall where two rival yakuza factions were playing at dice. Totally useless, the pair of them that day.

She missed them. Terribly.

This place was a little nicer than the first one. The tatami were fresher and instead of the stink of too much rice powder and unwashed hair, it smelled green and fresh from the stand of bamboo outside the room. Pale candles illuminated the room's far corners, adding the clean scent of warm wax to the night air. She wore slightly better silk, the furisode patterned in coppery maple leaves, and normally she would have been pleased to wear something this beautiful but she doubted she'd get to enjoy it for much longer. She sighed and smiled wryly to herself. One thing working in a brothel had over waitressing — the more time you spent off your feet, the happier the customers were.

The voice of Ai, the madam, broke into her thoughts then, and she scrambled to sit upright as steps sounded outside the shoji. She could hear more than one set of footsteps, so the madam and a client. Maybe if she got him good and drunk, she'd be able to convince him he'd had a wonderful time? She bowed quickly and cast her eyes down to the floor as the shoji screen slid open to admit the man with Ai.

"Himawari is our newest girl, honored sir, and I believe you will be very pleased. May I arrange for food and sake?" The man grunted. Yes, by all means, _plenty_ of sake, a barrel or two should be fine for what he had in mind. The girl on the floor before him bowed low, her dark hair gleaming where it was caught up behind her sleek head; a graceful neck flowed into a hint of pale shoulders where the silken edge lay on her skin. She was lovely and irrationally he wondered if his rough fingertips would catch on that smooth flesh— where was that damn sake?

Her eyes moved up from the tatami toward his feet as the shoji closed behind Ai and the footsteps receded; he wore battered geta that looked as if they'd been through the Warring States, twice, and his dusty feet weren't much better, calloused and broad, peasant's feet. And his ankles with their —

Her head snapped up. "Mugen?"

He looked at the girl kneeling before him, finally seeing her face. He gaped at her, completely at a loss for words, then began to laugh. She stared at him, angry — she hadn't seen him in two years, and all he could do was _laugh_? — before it struck her as funny, and she began to giggle as well.

* * *

She poured sake for them both from the tray with the dumplings. "I'm not going to ask what you're doing here, 'cause you'll tell me." Fuu took a sip and settled herself more comfortably; he was already sprawled out, lying on his side with his head propped up on his hand, geta kicked off in the general direction of the door as if they had never been apart. His hair was slightly longer than it had been — she wondered if he was still hacking at it himself with his tanto when it got too long for him — but otherwise he looked remarkably the same.

He grinned wolfishly and popped a dumpling in his mouth. "Your loss."

"What happened to you after we left the island? I was halfway expecting to see you again in Nagasaki, but you totally disappeared."

He shrugged. "There was a ship going north when I got to the harbor. They needed an extra man, so I signed on. Once we got there, I stayed for a little while then headed south when it started getting too cold. I've seen snow now, and that's enough for me."

"North?" She tried one of the dumplings, but left the rest for him. He looked at her oddly, but continued to eat.

He nodded. "Up where Okuru came from, Matsumae. Wanted to see what it was like."

"Oh." She fell uncharacteristically silent and picked at the edge of her long sleeve.

"Anyway, how'd you end up here? I know fish face likes the floating world ladies, but sending you off to work in a place like this would be —" mockingly, he pitched his voice a little lower "— 'unseemly'. I take it you two aren't together anymore?" Mugen drained his cup in one long swallow and poured a refill from the jug, leaving the food for now.

"_What_?"

"Come off it, girlie. I saw how you looked at him. And then that little conversation you had at the river before we got to the island? Yeah, I heard you two. Don't try pulling that I'd-never-be-interested-in-him crap with me."

"It wasn't like that! It — gaaaaah!" She wailed and clenched her fists. "Look, I haven't seen him since the last time I saw you. It just — after you — it just isn't what you're thinking. I don't even know where Jin is."

"Huh." He looked at her skeptically, but didn't pursue it. "So. You, whorehouse. What's up with that?"

"Oh." She grimaced. "Actually . . . I sort of got kidnaped. Again."

He grinned. "What's with you? You know this doesn't happen to other girls."

"Tell me about it. I should be waitressing at a teahouse across town right now. I _was_ in Kyoto — but I remembered my mother saying once that she had some cousins who lived near here, so I thought I'd try and find them. When I got there, they'd already died, and no one was left." She shrugged. "I knew they were old when she talked about them, but still, I thought I should try to look for them. They were family, you know? There isn't anyone left except for me, now. But . . . I found the teahouse here, and I had my own little room over the kitchen. I was on my way back from the market when boom, kidnaped, and here I am. At least they let me pick my own name here, as long as it was a flower."She grinned back and drew in a breath. "Maybe the name should have been a clue for you?"

"What were you doing in Kyoto?" he asked, curiously. He was gratified when her cheeks pinkened.

"I was a dice roller for a few months, but there was this guy — I _can't_ believe I was ever interested in him. He was all 'I am the greatest swordsman in Japan' this and 'I have been undefeated in ten duels', when either you or Jin could have — in probably a _minute_ — but, you know. He was sort of like that Nagamitsu guy, remember him? 'I'm gonna be big'?"

"Oh, yeah, the one with the chick with the huge — "

"She got you two drunk and _stole_ our money!" She picked up her cup and drank the remainder of her sake, feeling more relaxed and happy than she could remember being for a long time. "And she was _old_."

"What? Was not. Hey, go easy, remember the last time you had some of that 'really good water'." He sat up and finished off the plate. "Should've eaten more if you were planning to drink."

She huffed in mild indignation. "So what are you going to do now?"she asked. She had almost forgotten about the scars on his cheek, like tigers' whiskers; they weren't ugly, she decided, just . . . him. And his eyes were really pretty, a sort of gray like the ocean, which she'd never noticed this much before. And the room was so warm and comfortable —

He was getting to his feet, and the really pretty eyes now held a gleam in them she'd never seen, almost predatory. He came over to her and sat down — right next to her. And then his lips were right next to her ear as he chuckled. "Now? I already paid for you, so . . . "

_Ohhh_.

* * *

Her eyes widened and she squeaked, "But — you — it's not like that — you already _paid_ for me?" The sake started to feel less and less like a good idea as her heart began to hammer inside her chest. _We covered this already, Fuu_, the tiny portion of her mind that was less preoccupied with Mugen — eeee! who was reaching around her shoulders and pulling her against him with those long fingers of his, which felt strangely _good_ even though this was definitely bad, not good at all — told her. And then, _I wonder how much he paid_.

And then she could _feel_ those lips against her ear as he said, "Relax."

"How do you — not a good idea at all — "

He paused and she could feel him grin, that familiar wicked grin. "I'm getting you out of here. What did you think I meant, you dumb broad?"

"Ha!" If there had only been something for her to knock his head against; kami-sama, but she missed Jin. She turned her nose in the air away from him."You thought I was worried about doing _that_ with you? There's no way I would, ever. You're so not my type. You're so far away from my type that — "

"You need to be quiet. You think that big guy at the door is there 'cause he's so damn good-looking? He's not just keeping an eye on the customers, you know," he murmured. "I gave that woman enough for a couple of hours, so we should be out of town by the time anyone comes looking. Unless you want to stay?" Sardonically, he gestured toward the futon at the head of the room.

"No, you jackass. What makes you think I need your help getting out of here?"

He pulled away from her slightly. "Shut up, will you? I couldn't bring any rope with me, but that'll do. Pack what you need, but we're traveling light." He began methodically to fashion a makeshift rope from the bedding, fingers expertly weaving knots from the smooth fabric, smiling to himself. _No! I won't let you rescue me from the whorehouse!_ sounded ridiculous even to her, so she crossed to the small tansu where she kept the small belongings that hadn't been taken from her: her tanto was gone, taken when they'd brought her in, but she took her comb, and a tiny sack with some coins she'd secretly been hoarding. She paused a moment before hurriedly wrapping a cake of soap in a piece of scrap cotton and sticking that in with the coins, thinking of what it had been like to travel with him before. At least she could smell prettier than she had last time. "You ready?"

She nodded, and came to stand next to him at the window, where he'd tied the rope to the window frame. It looked secure enough, tied better by far than the one she'd put together to escape the time before. She grinned to herself, thinking suddenly of O-Suzu, who'd stood by the window then, staring at her as if Fuu had suddenly admitted to being a tengu in her free time. She missed the older girl and wondered if she'd ever married; she remembered how Sousuke looked at his tutor as she and Jin had made their goodbyes . . . He gave her an impatient nudge.

"Yo. I'll go first. Once I hit the ground, you come after me as quick as you can. Got it?"

"Yeah." He leapt to the window and twisted lightly to grasp the rope. He made it look easy, slipping down noiselessly and landing on the shadowy ground without incident.

_Okay. I did this before. And I'm not up that high._ She perched on the edge, her zori dangling off her feet as she brought her legs over the sill, cursing the sumptuous furisode under her breath with some of the choice phrases she'd learned from the man standing under the rope. The cloth was surprisingly rough under her palms, which were becoming slick with sweat, as she stretched her toes out in the direction of solid ground. _And don't think about him looking up, think good things. Udon noodles. Wading in the ocean. The sticks in Mama's hair. Is he looking up my kimono? Shit. Yakimanju. _She grasped the rope and pushed herself off, the cloth biting suddenly painfully into her hands as her arms took her weight, slight as she was; she made a small noise of pain as she automatically loosened her grip on the rope, swinging into nothingness, falling — before he caught her. The impact knocked the air out of her and she looked up at him, panicked, eyes wide and shadowed under the light of the moon.

"Dammit!" His arms tightened. "Don't do that!"

She sucked in a breath painfully. "You said as quick as I could," she hissed back, when she could speak again. "You didn't say anything about not letting go! And, _waaah_." She winced as he set her down, jolting her palms.

"Let me see." He took her hands and turned the abraded palms up for his inspection. His hands were warm and calloused and fit around hers like — she cursed the bad, bad sake again. "They're gonna hurt a little. You'll be all right for now, but you'll probably want to soak them for a while tonight when we get to camp."

"Camp?" she said, stupidly. She hadn't thought ahead that far, or even to ask where he was taking her, if he was taking her anywhere. He wasn't going to just leave her by the side of the road, was he, after breaking her out, and — no, they were making camp, so he wouldn't do that. She'd ask him in the morning, she decided.

He shot her a look. "Yeah, camp. Come on, girlie — move your ass." He set off rapidly down the side of the building, heading west toward the ocean. "Stupid — fish face should be the one to break you out, he's the one that pulls this sort of shit — "She trotted along behind him as quickly as possible, trying to keep to the shadows as best she could, until light spilled out not far enough behind them from an open door.

"HEY!" Behind her, she heard shouting, and — her heart sank like a piece of ice dropped into her stomach. "Runner!" Mugen swore viciously.

She recognized the voice of Ushiwakamaru, the guard who sat inside the brothel's front door. And he was coming up behind her; she could hear the sound of his heavy feet thudding along the ground, along with the sound of more men moving to intercept them.

Fast.

Mugen dropped back slightly as they ran, pushing her ahead; she found a burst of speed from somewhere, drawing in air in great burning gasps, willing her legs to stretch out, to fly across the ground toward the edge of town. She saw him out of the corner of her eye slip into a crouch, then spring toward the first of their pursuers. "GO!" She could hear the whisper of steel then, the sibilant promise of a blade in its arc through the air, then the chime of katana — shouting, and the choked sound of pain — her feet slowed imperceptibly. He was —

"GO!" he shouted again, and then he was running alongside her, away from the men still in chaos, his hand a vise around her arm as he pulled her forward toward the forest and safety ahead, air like knives in her lungs. Then, she could _smell_ it, the stink of men dying behind her, shit and blood, blood like copper in the air threading through the reek of voided bladders and living breathing bodies being turned into partially emptied sacks of slippery organs, as her fear quickened her feet.

They ran.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Nenju**_

Disclaimer: I don't actually own _Samurai Champloo _or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Chapter titles are likewise not mine, and are from the haiku of Basho (translation by R.H. Blyth).

* * *

II. _This morning a nameless hill_

* * *

She almost felt like crying when she saw the place where he'd set up camp, it looked so much like home, when home had been what they'd carried on their backs. There were a pair of long sleeping mats left unrolled, set at right angles to each other, surrounding a shallow depression that had been scooped out of the ground and a small fire left banked, burning quietly inside. A kasa lay neatly at the head of one of the bedrolls; had he taken to wearing a hat? With the price on his head, it was probably a good idea. She smiled, her fingers against her lips. She could hear the ocean faintly and smell the salt tang on the night air.

"What?" he asked, dropping to a roll and sprawling out.

"It's almost like we're back on that night before the island," she said. "Do you remember?"

He looked at her, then down again. "Yeah. Course I do," he answered, gruffly.

She chuckled. "It's amazing. I was thinking about you, when you showed up. That's the first time thinking ever brought someone to me — talking about someone, yes, but thinking, not usually. My mother used to tell me when I was a little girl to be careful when I talked about someone, because that would call that person to you."

"She did?" He turned to face her. "Huh. Must've missed that one."

"She said that was why you shouldn't talk about the dead. But I don't know — I don't think I would mind seeing a few people again." Her face was soft.

He rolled back, facing up with his eyes on the moon and away from her. "That kid?"

"What?"

"That one from the village. You know. His mother was sick." His voice was quiet.

"Him?" She considered a moment. "I hadn't really thought about him. I wonder if she's still alive."

"Ah." He paused. "I would have said, the kid who kidnaped you, but ... "

She laughed. "Doesn't narrow it down enough, 'cause — you know, everyone." He grinned.

"So, who then?" When she didn't answer, he looked over at her. Her eyes were dark with old pain as she stared into the fire.

"You know who."

"Ah." He plucked at the long grass for a blade to nibble; his hands were restless. To distract her, he said, "I never knew mine."

She looked up.

"He was a convict from the mainland, I guess. Least that's what I heard. There was an older guy that took care of me when I was little, he was a friend of his that came over on the same ship, told me stories. He used to talk about how brave my dad was, how he never took any shit from anyone, no matter how tough the other guy was. He said when they took him out to be executed, he told them his only regret was that a bunch of assholes like them would be the ones to do it. I always thought, man, I wanted to be like that; I wasn't going to take anything from anyone. I was gonna be as good as anyone else." He looked at the night sky through his spread fingers. "Then when he died, there were these other kids I used to hang out with down at the docks, I guess they were my family then."

"What happened to your mother?" Fuu asked quietly. He scratched his neck and shrugged.

"She died. I don't remember her much, just that she was from Ryukyu, and she liked sugar. We didn't see much of it, but it was always a big deal when we did. I kinda hoped when I was little that she'd marry my dad's friend. Sorta dumb, really."

"I don't know. He sounds like he was nice." She smiled. "That's the first time you ever told me anything about you without me having to force you into it."

"Liar. I told you about the thing with the chicks with the big hooters."

"I knew that already! Even _Momo_ knew that!"

"And then when I told you about the weird old guy, you and four-eyes are all, 'Ooh, you could've been killed, that was dangerous, nyah nyah nyah.' So what? Big deal, dead guy. I wouldn't have told you if I knew you wouldn't ever shut up about it. Anyway, I never heard you bugging fish face about _sharing_ — "

"Gaaaah! I _never _said that!"

"— remember the Hakane checkpoint? He never said a word and you never bitched at him about it —"

"I could hear you two bickering halfway between here and the town," the calm, deep voice of the man who owned the kasa broke in. "Perhaps until we are further away, you could restrict yourselves to throwing things at each other?"

Her eyes widened in shock. "_Jin_?" The tall ronin padded silently up to the fire, and his companions; he had just set his swords down when she flew up to meet him. "Jin!" She slipped her arms around him and rested her cheek against his chest, breathing him in. He still smelled of the oil he used on his mismatched daisho, and cotton dried in the fields, and underneath all that, his salty warm skin. His heart thumped steadily, comfortingly against her cheek.

He smiled down at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and returned her embrace before drawing her away gently, her chin cupped in his hand as he looked at her. "Fuu," he said. "You grew up."

Across the fire, Mugen's eyes narrowed.

_Shit._

* * *

"Oi — you're late, fish face," Mugen said by way of greeting. "Cathouse bouncer beat you up? Again?"

A fleeting look of disdain flickered over the tall ronin's features. "No," he answered. "He moved like a wounded cow." He glanced from the other man over to her. "There is another sleeping mat, if you would prefer to sit on that, Fuu." She nodded and he brought it out from the cache of supplies they'd left hidden when they'd gone into the town, unrolling it for her next to the fire so she'd be warm enough, at a right angle from his. Mugen cursed himself for not thinking of it first. _What did you think, that she'd crouch in the dirt all night,_ a snide little voice in his head asked. _Now she's looking at him like he's Yoshitsune. And he's looking back at her like —_ he ruthlessly squashed down his conscience, which had been about to say that the ronin had been looking at her like _he_ had been looking at her, and closed off that circular line of thought before it got any more disturbing. _Like she was double shrimp tempura_. _Yeah._

When she had settled on her mat, and Jin had seated himself, she looked up at them. "Um. Thanks, you two. I — "she bit her lip. "It's nice to see you both again. Really. I missed you both. But — what are you doing here? And both of you?"

Jin frowned and turned his eyes from her reluctantly. "You didn't tell her?"

Mugen rolled his eyes. "No. We were busy." The other man shot him a look. "Escaping, goddammit!"

"Tell her what?" she asked.

The two men were awkwardly silent for a moment, then Jin spoke. "Fuu-chan, the shogun's men know that you survived the attempt on your life on Ikitsuki Island, and we have reason to believe that they are close to finding out where you are."

They were unprepared for what she did next, despite having discussed the situation at great length during the journey to find her; she laughed.

She _laughed_.

They both stared at her, confused, as she laughed, covering her mouth with her hand until she had to wipe away the tears streaming down her face. Jin had frozen at the first burst of merriment, and sat looking at her awkwardly. Mugen settled back in when it was apparent she hadn't given way to hysterics, and continued to amuse himself by staring into the night sky, listening to the sound of her laughter. At least she was laughing more than she used to, not that he'd been around anyone who made a regular habit of it. She'd laughed back in the whorehouse with him, and he hadn't expected her to; he'd been laughing at himself, for thinking that even though two years had passed, she'd still be the same girl who'd confessed to tricking them in the coin toss.

It had been unnerving, to say the least. The woman had shown him into a back room with a tansu and a futon — and had anything happened there? Unbidden images came of her, all bare silky limbs and pale skin in the dim lantern light, coupling with faceless men, their skin as rough and dark as his — and this woman, easily as beautiful as any seductress he'd met on the journey from Edo to Nagasaki or since. Then she'd looked up and Fuu had looked out of her eyes, those eyes like dark forest honey, and he'd forgotten how to breathe. And then when she'd fallen and he'd caught her — he rolled onto his stomach and bit his lip.

She was beginning to quiet now, the giggles trailing off into hiccups. She waved off their looks of concern with an unsteady hand.

"I'm sorry. It's been such a long time, and then to see you two again, and hear that? It's like kabuki or something. Now you're going to tell me I'm actually the Shogun's daughter, and that I was stolen away by a vengeful spirit at birth because — well, I don't know why. But I'm going to wake up any minute now. I probably had too much wasabi with dinner and now I'm having the strangest, most vivid dream ever. Or maybe it was bad mushrooms?" She appeared to consider this for a moment.

"Fuu," Mugen said. She looked at him and relented at what she saw in his eyes.

"All right. You have to admit it sounds crazy, though. Why would anyone care about me? I'm not a threat to anyone."

"Not a current threat, no," Jin answered slowly. "However, I believe that the shogunate may see you as a potential threat."

"What? Why?"

"Your father, in the years after he was no longer with your family, became an important figure for the underground Christians here. Because of the nature of Christianity, your father's death has not removed the threat to the shogunate that his life was. Have you ever heard of martyrs, Fuu?"

"I've heard of them, but what they are exactly — " she shrugged. "Sorry, I don't know."

"It's an interesting concept, from what I've heard, "Jin said. "Martyrs die rather than abandon their beliefs. When they are executed — which is apparently not a shameful thing to them — their deaths draw the attention of more people to Christianity, and potentially more converts. Very clever; Sensei would have said that by losing the battle, they win the war."

"But they're still dead?" Mugen wanted to know.

"Yes. But they're assured that they will spend the afterlife in paradise, instead of some place called hell, which is . . . unpleasant," Jin finished doubtfully. "The man who told me was unclear as to what that entailed."

Mugen snorted. Wars, the afterlife, whatever; it still sounded like a stupid idea. He went back to chewing on the stem of grass and listening.

Fuu, meanwhile, was thinking. "So the Christians might think my father was a martyr?"

"Yes."

She shook her head. "He was just sick and frail . . . and he's dead now. I still don't understand why the shogun's men would think they should kill me."

"The Christians revere their martyrs, and cherish any part of their lives in this world," Jin said. "You would be very important to them, if they knew you were your father's daughter. It would not be inconceivable that many Christians would pledge their allegiance to you, which —"

"— would be bad." She sighed. "I get it, now."

"I'm sorry."

"Mou. Not your fault. So what now?" she asked.

"I suggest we get some sleep, for now, and make our plans in the morning."

"Yeah — good night, you two." She nodded, and curled up on her mat, asleep in moments.

"Good night, Fuu. Mugen," Jin said, and stretched out. Mugen grunted, and waited for the ronin to roll onto his left side, as he always did when he fell asleep; it was some time before he realized that the other man was as wakeful as he was.

They passed the rest of the night, listening to the sound of her breathing.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't actually own _Samurai Champloo _or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Chapter titles are from the haiku of Basho (translations by R.H. Blyth).

A/N: At the end of the series, our trio is at the crossroads. We know that their swords were broken, but Jin has a daisho at his hip and Mugen's carrying what looks like an European longsword on his back as they take their leave of Fuu. Where did they come from? I'll let you draw your own conclusions, but I don't think it's a stretch to assume that Kasumi-dono would have kept his katana (remember, he had one in episode #19), and had managed to collect an European sword through his Christian contacts. (I do sort of like the idea that Jin would have kept his own wakizashi, though, as a last link with the past. Irrational, I know.)

_**Nenju**_

* * *

III. _Is shrouded in mist_

* * *

Of all the ways in which Jin had thought he would see her again, this hadn't been one of them.

Of course, in his memory, she'd stayed the same skinny little girl she had been in Edo, all eyes and too-sharp elbows, who hadn't been _so_ very different from the other students at the dojo he'd fled; mentally swap pink kimono for hakama and gi, and voila, she became another boy. For the most part, she'd acted almost like a boy — in keeping up with them as they walked, talking to him as if they were equals, squabbling with Mugen over the last of the dango. He preferred to think of her that way on their journey, concentrating on seeing her not as 'girl', but as 'Fuu'. It had been easier.

He had never been around many women even before he'd gone to live with Mariya-dono at such a young age, and during his years there, the number of women he'd come across could be counted on the fingers of one hand. Women had been discussed at the dojo, but always in the abstract; frail objects, the subject of courtesy. It was understood that most of his fellow students would someday marry and pass on their names, but he had never really connected the butterfly creatures he remembered from the outside world with the rather curt discussion he'd had at fourteen with his sensei, about what went on between men and women behind the shoji door. Even now, it was difficult to connect women with his encounters with brothel girls. Shino had come closest — he closed his eyes and winced inwardly at the memory of how _fumbling_ he had been, how very awkward he had been in his gratitude — but he'd been careful only to choose coarse, good-natured girls he could forget after that, relieving the demands of his body when they became too much to drown out with meditation, nothing more. He set any thoughts of women aside, and reserved his passion for the sword; Yukimaru was gone, and with him, any thoughts for brotherhood with another man who might have understood. Shino . . .

Eventually, he would have to come to some sort of decision about whether or not to seek out Shino, when her time in the enkiri dera was finished, but that would come in time. Any idea of making a life with her was remote, he knew. There were still others from the dojo who wanted to spill his blood; he did not fear for himself, but he hesitated at putting her in harm's way, he told himself. And late at night, when he closed his eyes to sleep at last, he could admit to himself his uncertainty. Would he recognize her? Did he even _want_ her anymore? He didn't know . . . which was why, when Mugen had appeared out of nowhere on his way to find Fuu, he'd agreed (almost before Mugen had finished asking whether he was in or not) to find her, and to find safety for her.

For_ her_. Fuu still held his loyalty. He owed this allegiance to Kasumi's daughter; after all, his blade was hers. After all. She'd given him her father's katana — she had no use for it, she said, smiling at him as they both knew she lied, and he'd taken it — when his own was shattered. It was another way in which the feelings he had for Shino were stifled, he realized. Another woman had given him a soul, when his had broken. What was a red umbrella in comparison to that?

He had recognized her voice from the forest, so he'd known it was her, but on seeing her . . . she knew _him_, though, and still, she didn't hesitate to hug him close. She was — _so_ changed, but yet he could see the Fuu of two years past looking out at him from the eyes of this beautiful woman; she was looking up at him, smiling back, still small enough for him to fit her under his chin if he held her again — Jin had swallowed the impulse to do just that. Instead, he said lamely, "You grew up." And then, he'd told her why they were there. And then? She laughed.

He caught the concern that passed over the other man's face before it was replaced with the more usual not-expression. He was accustomed to the sound of Mugen cursing — it had taken less time to become as the piping of frogs at night, though with some of the more creative oaths, it would probably be more appropriate to think of it as the whining of a mosquito, annoying and he just wanted to _smack_ the man to shut him up, before he managed to wrestle that impulse to the back of his mind with the rest — but the worry was new. He worried, as well. Kariya had come so, so near to killing her last time, managing to corner her before he'd been able to kill the man and save her. She had never spoken of it in the short time before they'd left the island, but the look in her eyes had made him want to kill the shogun's dog all over again, and maybe a third time for good measure. He'd — he hoped one small, cowardly hope that burned shamefully in his chest; g_ods_, he prayed,_ please, please don't let her cry. Anything but that._ _No crying._

And she didn't cry, thankfully. Not as she would have done, on the road to Nagasaki.

The not-crying was good, it was just that this laughter was very . . . odd. And worrying. Could she be ill? Or her experiences in the brothel unhinged her completely, and it had only come out now, the news had fractured her grasp of reality. Maybe it would have been better if she'd cried, and he could have gone up to her, because when she cried she ran off to hide somewhere and he found her because that was what he _did_, and then he could have done something, could have comforted her. _And then_, a tiny treacherous voice inside him said, _you could have taken her in your arms again; didn't she feel soft? And warm? And didn't she burn against you — _

_Shut up_, he told himself. Those were improper thoughts. And about Fuu, which was even more shaming; but then he caught a glimpse of Mugen, reclining on his mat and looking everywhere but at her, and came to a blinding realization. The other man wanted her, as well.

_So_. He wasn't the only one of them to have taken a sword from her, and to want more in return.

* * *

When she woke the next morning, he had almost finished packing up. "Hey," he said, as her eyes flickered open.

"Mm. Hey. Guess this wasn't a dream." She rubbed her face and yawned.

"No."

"Where's Mugen? The forest?" He nodded wryly, as she chuckled. "My fault. I gave him sake last night before we left, so he'll have to find some poor tree to water. I'd offer to help you pack, but — " She fanned her hands out to indicate how lacking she was.

"It's nothing. There isn't that much, believe me," he told her. He added his flint to his pack and set the kasa on top. "See?"

She grinned. "I'm amazed that you've become such a rich man?"

"It was very hard work, "he agreed gravely, giving her a little smile. She picked up the kasa as he sat back down across from her.

"I see that. And this is yours, isn't it?"

"Hn."

She turned it in her hands, looking at the straw. "I haven't seen you in one of these for a long time." Her eyes were thoughtful and he saw that she had something to say to him.

"No," he said gently. "What is it?"

"It's been over two years," she said. "Do you remember? You had one when we stopped in that town, because of the rain."

He looked at her strangely. _What— _

"Do you still have that umbrella? The red one?" She looked up at him.

_Oh._

When he didn't answer, she handed the kasa back to him. "What are you really doing here, Jin?" she asked, not really expecting him to say anything, as he stood up.

"We'll be leaving soon," he said. "You should get ready."

She nodded, feeling like fifteen again; and very small, and very stupid.

"Fuu?" What _was_ he doing here, anyway? He wondered.

In the end, he thought, he could be nothing less than what he was.

"What?" She stood, brushing the wrinkles out of the beautiful kimono as best she could.

"An umbrella is only good when it rains," he said, and she smiled, feeling absurdly light. Still, she had to know.

"You might want to have one later," she said.

"Fuu — "

"Because, you know, maybe someday you won't have one, and you'll regret it, because you _had_ one, and you let go of it, and the umbrella would belong to someone else — "

"Do you _want _me to have an umbrella?"

"I — " she paused, because, really, what could she say? " — don't want you to get cold," she finished lamely.

"I won't be cold," he promised. If nothing else, he'd have those bridges he'd just left engulfed in flames behind him to keep him warm, he thought wryly. "Mugen will be back any moment now, so ... "

"Yeah." She nodded. "Is there — "

"There's a stream not far from here, if you go that way. It's fresh water." He gave her a significant look. "I saw your hands."

"Oh." She didn't move. "Jin?"

"Hn?"

"That was you last night, wasn't it? When Ushiwakamaru came after us at the brothel?"

He nodded.

"Thank you. For everything." She smiled one last time at him, and set off toward the stream.

He watched her go for a moment, then packed her mat away with his. The forest was silent, and he sat seiza to wait, closing his eyes. It would be any moment now —

"What was that all about?" the voice came from the edge of the woods.

"As if you didn't hear every word," he said, not opening his eyes. "What are your intentions toward her?"

"What're you, her father?" Mugen stepped out of the trees. "What're _your _intentions toward her? Mine are none of your damn business, fish face, and _you_ were looking pretty cozy there for a minute, so don't put your shit off on me."

"No." The criminal from the Ryukyus was right; it wasn't any of his business.

He wanted to know, anyway.

"She's not a whore," he told the other man.

Mugen rubbed his chin and looked down at him as if Jin had sustained a head injury. "I _know_ that," he said, aggrieved. "I'm not stupid."

"No, you're not." Jin agreed, opening his eyes. "But if you fail in any way to treat her as — "

"You, too, you tightassed bastard. Don't make me have to try to kill you, again."

"Hn."

"Anyway, we can't think about that crap now. First, we gotta figure out what to do."

The ronin nodded. Satisfied, Mugen sat down and began squashing his belongings into his pack. Surprisingly, the other man packed almost as efficiently as Jin did himself; there was no benefit in having to root around for minutes for something that was needed now, if not five minutes ago. They weren't entirely dissimilar, Jin had to admit. Mugen finished up, and stretched out on the ground with his finger up his nose. Well — _some_ differences. Quite a few, actually. The man had virtually raised himself in a prison colony, but on the other hand — was it humanly possible to stick a finger _that_ far up one's nose? He closed his eyes again. "Our first priority should be to take her somewhere safe," he said.

"Yeah. You think of a place?"

He sighed. "No," Jin admitted.

"Me neither. Go north, you get Matsumae-han, so that's out."

"Hn. They'd remember us, yes."

"South to Satsuma wouldn't work, either. They wouldn't know you, but — " Mugen trailed off. He withdrew his finger and wiped it casually in the dirt.

"I could take her by myself," Jin said. Mugen glowered at him.

"Dream on. I ain't letting you go off alone with her."

"Go where with her?" Fuu asked, as she approached the place where the men were sitting. "Mou. You think _I'm_ noisy?"Jin and Mugen exchanged looks, as they got to their feet. Neither man had heard her coming back. Jin lifted one eyebrow at the other man, who shrugged.

"We're trying to figure out where to go next," Mugen said.

She stopped dead in her tracks, as a familiar mutinous expression came over her pink and freshly scrubbed face. Her eyebrows twitched. "_You're_ trying to figure out where to go next?" she said, much too calmly. Internally, Jin was torn between unholy glee that Mugen had pissed her off to the point where she used _that_ voice on him — hee! — and a sinking feeling in his middle. He idly thought that the dojo would have been well served in adding lessons in dealing with disgruntled women to the curriculum. Possibly, it could have been covered at the same time as seppuku. Or Nagashino.

"Uh— " Mugen recognized the tone of her voice as well. "Yeah."

"You — you _idiot_!" Fuming, she gave in to what seemed the best possible response; she kicked him in the shin.

"OW!" He yelped. "You little bitch!" Ooh, bad ideaJin winced as Fuu kicked Mugen in the other shin, dropping him to the ground, where the man clutched at his abused legs.

Jin was unprepared for her to kick him in the shins next. "Hey!" He wobbled, but thankfully did not fall over.

"And _you_! I can't believe you! I can understand why _he_ treats me like a sack of rice, but you — ! Gaaaaah!" Her fists clenched, she stalked off through the forest.

_Shit_.

He grabbed up his pack and hurriedly tied the edges of the cloth together before slinging it crosswise over his chest. "Fuu! Wait!" He hastened after her. Behind him, he could hear Mugen scramble to his feet. _That went less than well._

"Couldn't _bother_ to ask — stupid, stupid men — think they can just — _arrgh_!" She continued to stomp ahead as he caught up to her.

"Fuu — " He stopped as she whirled around to face him, Mugen stumbling up behind them.

"Listen up, you two. Don't you ever, _ever_ think of making a decision for me." She jabbed an angry finger into his chest. "I'm not a little girl, and neither one of you is my father." She glared up at them, breathing heavily. A few strands of hair had come loose around her face as Jin looked at her, and — the _last_ thing he felt about her was fatherly. _Um._ And what was right action again — abstaining from taking life, abstaining from stealing, and — at this rate, he would reach enlightenment only if he lived to be a thousand. Chastened, his eyes dropped from her face, and — _oh._ Maybe if he lived to be — perhaps he should reconcile himself; he was _doomed_.

"Right," Mugen said faintly. "Not your dad. Got it."

"Fine." She whirled back around and continued on down the path which, Jin was relieved to see, was not the one leading back to the town, where he believed there would be some very pointed questions about why the brothel was now hiring. Instead, they seemed to be headed east. East? He wondered, silently. For now, though, he contented himself with following her.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own _Samurai Champloo _or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos, but if they ever have an anime garage sale, I am _so_ totally there. Special thanks to ADSV, whose reviews are like crack for writers; many thanks are also due to MT Pocket, Tiger, Vylest and everyone who's been kind enough to R&R. You've turned me into a review ho, kids! Seriously, I'm delighted and humbled that people actually are reading my stuff; you're all much too good to me.

* * *

_**Nenju**_

_IV. The sea darkens;_

* * *

Mugen was giving her a headache, what with the shouting.

"Oh, _hell_ no! This has to be the stupidest idea, ever — you want to go back _there_? Do you remember what happened the last time we were there?"

She bit off the retort she had been thinking of making — _yeah, you almost got killed, and you were rude, so of course! Oh, wait, you did that _everywhere. "We stayed there for free and he fed us. You're right, what am I thinking?"

"That's not what I meant!"

"What is your problem? It's not that far. It was twice as far when we went to Nagasaki."

"He made me meditate!"

"That's it? You don't want to go because you think he's going to make you sit quietly?"

"The guy was a complete asshole. He couldn't even answer a simple question!"

Her hand came up to rub at the bridge of her nose. "Fine. _I_ am going to see Father Zuikou. If you don't want to come to Motomachi, you don't have to," she said wearily, and started walking again.

She heard him grunt to himself, before he walked past her . . . toward Motomachi. "I'm going that way anyway," he told her, his hands laced together nonchalantly behind his head. "So don't think I'm doing this because it's a good idea. Because it _isn't_."

Behind them, Jin snorted in derision. She hid a grin as Mugen pointedly ignored them both.

* * *

_Dammit_.

Mugen couldn't figure it out. Why Motomachi? It was a couple of weeks away, maybe a little less than two if they really pushed it. He could have seen it — maybe — if Shoryuu had been alive and willing to help them; not that he was either, anymore, but the killer had been _strong, _maybe strong enough to fight the government's dogs. The only other person they knew in Motomachi was that monk, a bujutsu master once, but now? Living at a temple was entirely different from being on the run from the shogun's men.

Dammit. What was she thinking? He frowned and rubbed his chin, trying to remember her at the temple. She'd mended a little bit of screen, she'd talked to some of the locals, she'd done some meditation, and he knew she'd talked to the monk. About what, he had no idea; he'd been busy getting ready for the fight with Shoryuu. He could ask . . . but he didn't really think she'd tell him.

He glanced down at the subject of his thoughts, walking alongside him giving every indication of great interest in the landscape around her. It was green, he'd give it that. Not quite like Ryukyu, which was warm and lush and his gold standard for beauty, but okay for all that; for one thing, there was more to eat. His eye automatically began to tally the available sources of food. There were a number of rivers and lakes for those oddly bony freshwater fish, and it was fairly common for them to come across wild fruit trees on their journey. The last time he'd eaten plums had been with Jin and Fuu, just outside Saga — _ah_. He could hear Fuu's stomach complaining. He'd eaten most of the dumplings in Kasumi, so he wasn't too badly off, and he thought the ronin had eaten some fish before they'd gone into town, but he had no idea of the last time she'd eaten. She looked a little thin, anyway, not that he noticed. Much. Certainly not the little hollow under her collarbone, anyway.

There was one of those fruit trees; a pear, this time. Not his favorite, but better than nothing, and he never passed up any chance at a meal if he could help it. Mugen drew the longsword from its scabbard fluidly and cut breakfast down for himself; and extra, for Fuu. She gaped at him in surprise as she took the pear, and he felt — slightly — a little prickle at the back of his mind. Why would she be surprised? "Eat something," he told her gruffly. "I'm not carrying your ass all the way to Motomachi if you faint."

She gave him a funny look, then softened. "You too," she told him.

He bit into the fruit. "Have to get my ass there somehow," he said, giving her a snarky grin through half-chewed pear.

She snickered quietly at the idea of carrying him almost all the way to the Hakone checkpoint, then took a bite, still smiling as she looked up at him. "That was really nice of you, Mugen. Thank you."

Unnoticed by Fuu, the ronin gave him a sour glance, and picked a pear for himself.

Mugen's eyes narrowed, and he smiled to himself. Enemies, comrades, friends; it was still sort of fun to yank the other man's chain, as long as he was the one doing the yanking. And it was almost as good as the look she'd just given him, which was . . . a big fat so what, and why did he care? This was why he liked whores — there wasn't any need to think about shit like looks that made you want to roll over like a puppy. Meh. Women. Wouldn't hurt to make sure she ate, though. She still wasn't into food like she had been, for some reason, which he added to his list of Things to Figure Out.

Either way, he could tell that the ronin was so jealous, he was about to eat his own liver. _Heh._ Maybe he could kill two birds with one stone.

The first time he did it, they had stopped for the evening to set up camp. They'd been trying to avoid towns as much as possible, at least until they got far enough away from Kasumi to make tracing them difficult. Jin and Fuu were occupied in building a fire, so he slipped off to a likely looking pond he'd noticed on their way there; he'd always been good at fishing, so it didn't take him long to catch enough for all three of them, and thread them onto a young bamboo shoot. Fuu was telling the other man the story of what had happened to that pet furball of hers — Nono? Bobo? — but broke off when she spotted him. "Mugen! Where — " He held up the string of fish, and some sticks he'd found to cook them on.

"You hungry?" he asked, nonchalantly.

He grinned as the ronin sent a particularly evil glare his way. _Heh. _Whether it was for the shining look she gave him, or for reminding the other man of the time he'd nearly been killed by a woman, it was still priceless.He stretched out on the ground alongside the other man, watching the girl spit the fish onto the sticks and arrange them around the fire.

Fuu continued to chatter happily as the fish cooked, darting these little pleased glances at himwhich were . . . _nice_. Huh. Mugen scratched his head contemplatively. He could be responsible for catching their food, he thoughtIt would make her happy, which he didn't care about. Right? Right.

* * *

The plan worked until he got sick of fish.

* * *

"AAAAAAAAAAH!" Really, she had the loudest scream he had ever heard. Jin looked up for a moment, then went back to his katana and rice paper.

"What the hell is wrong with you, woman?" Confused, Mugen dropped his neatly trussed burden to the ground, Fuu's eyes following.

"How could you — what were you thinking — I can't eat _that_!"

He stared at her in disbelief. What the hell _was_ wrong with her? It wasn't as if he was asking her to kill and clean the damn thing. "Why not?"

Dinner looked up at them with wide adorable eyes, fluffy little cotton tail twitching.

She looked up at him furiously. "I'm surprised you didn't try catching a squirrel!"

Well, he _had_, but —

Maybe not the best time to tell her that.

Instead, he tried to reason with her.

Sort of.

* * *

"Bitch!"

"Idiot!"

* * *

"Whiner!"

"You _jackass_!"

* * *

She stalked off in the direction of the river.

"Hey! Where do you think you're going?"

"I," she bit out, "am going _fishing_."

"I'm cooking the damn thing anyway," he called after her retreating form. She ignored him, still grumbling to herself.

Jin continued to polish the blade of his katana silently, corner of his mouth twitching once.

Behind him, Mugen growled. "Shut _up_."

* * *

Dinner was, for the most part, a quiet affair.

"Your vermin is actually quite good."

"Shut _up_."

* * *

"I'm not talking to _either_ of you. Bunny killers."

"Hn?"

* * *

She waited until the next day, until Jin had excused himself tactfully to make use of the privacy of the forest, and she and Mugen were alone.

"Mugen," she began hesitantly.

He cocked an eyebrow, an expression he'd stolen blatantly from the ronin and found to be quite useful; it could mean _Oh yes?_ or _Free crab thingies? _or _The yakuza in this town like to carry lots of cash on them, you say? _or an infinity of other and equally delightful meanings. He'd also noticed it was handy to pry information out of other people, who for the most part were uncomfortable with silence and would try to fill the conversational vacuum by talking more. It worked especially well on Fuu, not that he generally needed to encourage her to talk, but sometimes the background of her voice was pleasant. Kind of, he amended.

"I was wondering — that is, I remembered that, uh, I wanted to —"

Not about last night, then; she'd have come straight out with it, he realized. He waited patiently as she sputtered.

_Gaaaah. _Had she realized just how mortifying it would be to ask him, she would have waited until she'd have an opportunity to ply Jin with sake until he fell over — actually, maybe it would have been a better idea if _she'd_ drunk the sake, and then she wouldn't have cared, although sake made her face as flushed as she could feel it becoming — _oh, great_. _Try not to think of embarrassing things, Fuu,_ she told herself. _Momo. Yes! Remember when she bit that pervert? Right before you nailed him with that vase? Ah. Maybe not so much 'nailed', as — is _he_ looking at my chest? _She eeped to herself and crossed her arms tightly.

"What?" Fascinated, he watched. She was blushing furiously as they walked, a crimson wash spilling down over her face and her collarbone, down, down, past the edge of the silk. Just how far down did she blush, he wondered, then cursed himself and tried to think of other things. His sword needed sharpening, he'd have to borrow Jin's whetstone and the ronin always complained about the condition he returned it in — ah, that was better. No scaring the girl. Although —

She took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on embarrassment number one. "I owe you some money."

"Money?" he asked, mystified. When had he given — oh. Right. "Forget about it," he said awkwardly.

"No, I — ah, I was thinking. When we get to the next town, I want to change this kimono for something a little less noticeable," she explained. "I thought I could probably find someone who would buy it, then I could buy another kimono as a replacement and still have a little left over."_And then, _she added mentally, _I could buy some cloth for bindings so I'm not bouncing all over the place in front of the two of you. "_Then I thought about why you spent your money in the first place."

He rubbed a hand through his hair, confused but unwilling to show it. "Mm?"

"I never told you thank you."

_Ah._ Her blush was subsiding a little, the skin at the vee of her kimono becoming pale again. There was still a faint shadow there, a crease in the skin — his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Her arms were still crossed and she was slouching. Hm. Save that thought for later. "Yeah, well, don't mention it."

"No, really. Thank you. It was — I didn't want to be there."

He nodded and shrugged, mind working. Now that she'd brought it up —

"And I want to pay you back, really," she said. "How, ah —"

"How much were you?"

She nodded incoherently, and tried to will herself to sink into the ground before Jin came back to find them discussing prostitute pricing, or to hurry Mugen along. Or, barring either of those two options, to will the ground to open and swallow her whole.

He scratched an ear. "Nine monme."

Finally! _That_ wasn't that bad, she could probably come up with that much at some point in time —

"— which is very low, actually."

— except, of course, for the fact that it was a different _sort_ of bad. "Oh, um, is it?" she said, feigning complete ignorance. "Huh. Stupid brothel, it figures that they'd mess up like that. But if I sell the furisode, it should go a long way toward — "

He gave her his how-stupid-do-you-think-I-am look and ignored her attempt to distract him. "Very low," he repeated. "For a girl's first."

_Crap_. She had forgotten she was talking to the man who could have been known as the Brothel Tour Map. The tiny, logical portion of her brain that wasn't busy screaming _Eeee! _in panic was unhelpfully telling her _We need to come up with something, fast_! which she knew already. She missed what he said next as her mind whirled, only catching the timbre of his voice. "Mm?"

"So, was it there?"

"What?" she said, automatically, thoughts skittering through her head in no order whatsoever. Maybe she could convince him that she'd lied to the madam to make her think she really wasn't, except for the fact that it was so illogical that he'd see through it immediately; damn logic.

"Your first. Was it at the whorehouse back in Kasumi?"

"None of your business."

He frowned. "It was before that?"

"Would you just drop it? I don't want to talk about it. _Ever_." Her face was flushed again, and her mouth set in that stubborn line with which he was so familiar.

"When would — it was that asshole in Kyoto, wasn't it?" he demanded.

"I said, I don't want to— "

"What is in Kyoto?" A different voice broke in. She closed her eyes. _Oh, no. No._

"_Nothing_ is in Kyoto," she told them shortly. "If you don't mind." She held the sleeves of the furisode carefully so as not to snag the silk on the underbrush and walked off under the trees.

Frustrated, Mugen looked after her until they could no longer see the watercolor glimmer of silk, then turned away to see Jin's eyes on him.

"Kyoto?" the ronin repeated.

"Somehow, we got to get to Kyoto." Mugen glared at the ground. "We're going to find that bastard, and I'm going to cut his head off."

"What — ?"

"There was," Mugen paused for emphasis, "a guy in Kyoto. A _guy_."

"And you believe he needs killing?"

"The woman at the whorehouse charged me nine monme for her."

They walked in silence for a moment, before Mugen glanced out of the corner of his eye at the other man. The ronin's face was calm, but the knuckles of the hand gripping the hilt of his katana were whiter than Fuji-san's snow.

For once, Jin was the one to break the silence. "I see," he said evenly. "Tell me, though, why you will be the one to kill him."

"Because you'd do it quick."

"Hn." From his tone, Mugen took the meaning that the other man thought this debatable, but wasn't going to press the issue right now. "Kyoto, then."


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own _Samurai Champloo _or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Neither do I own the haiku of Matsuo Basho; translation for this chapter title and that of the previous are those of Haruo Shirane, on the Asian Topics website maintained by the good folk at Columbia University, and my bad for not mentioning that last chapter. My apologies, Shirane-sempai. Occasionally (i.e., on those days ending in -ay), 3Jane is an airhead.

A/N: I'm taking this opportunity to make something a not-issue, before it becomes one. This particular fic deals primarily with het relationships, but not exclusively; some characters will have same sex relationships, but not as a primary focus (because, honestly, there are fics better than mine that do — check the favorite authors/stories links in my bio). I doubt this will be a big deal for most SC-fic readers — if you're bright enough to like this anime, you're bright enough to realize that life isn't all June and Ward Cleaver. However, if same sex relationships bother you, then you should probably read something else, or go for a nice walk. It's spring! If they don't, though, there's a neat little homage to Agent Orange for the funny that I couldn't resist.

Many thanks to everyone who's been kind enough to R&R, especially Coffee Gyrl and linxlynks at MM. You're all wonderful, kids.

* * *

_**Nenju**_

_V. The voices of the wild ducks_

* * *

She was sitting with her profile to him, chin resting on her knees, as she stared into the campfire he'd built. It did not escape him that she was avoiding their eyes as much as she could. Mugen had given up entirely on pretending he wasn't upset by what Fuu had said to him (what exactly _had_ passed between them, Jin wondered) and was lying on his sleeping mat with his back to them both, close enough to the cheerful little blaze that the ronin wouldn't have been surprised if the other man's clothing had caught fire. It was like haiku, really; a journey counted in evenings spent by the side of a campfire. _The sound of fire/The sitting woman is quiet/something something something_ — well, it had been the Mujuu, not the arts of a courtier he'd learned. He was a priest without a temple, not a poet.

None of them had said much of anything all day as they walked, after he'd so obviously interrupted the conversation between Mugen and the girl; there had been the most peculiar expression on the Ryukyuan's face — the last time he'd seen anything close had been in the days following the time they'd been asleep in the house of the sunflower samurai. Mugen had wanted to walk down to the water's edge, Fuu had been adamant that it was much too soon, and they had argued. In the end, Mugen had pushed past her and gone anyway . . . the effort had reopened the wound in his abdomen, and they'd found him by the trail of scarlet washing over the path. The look in his eyes had been a mixture of vulnerability and anger, so much pain . . . and fury at being _weak_, at being unable to stand on his own, and the utter powerlessness — he'd looked in those unsettling silver eyes and thought: _yes_. He knew what it was to find yourself caged . . .

Jin concentrated on his breathing; air in, air out. The scent of pine resin came to him along with the woodsmoke, as he frowned slightly. He couldn't settle his mind this evening. Meditation was usually something that came easily to him, but tonight he was struggling as if he was a green boy, sitting for the first time at his master's feet. _Shishou_ — he wished again that Mariya-dono were alive, and able to give him advice, then thought wryly to himself in the next second that perhaps his adopted father might not have been a good source of advice on women. Well, woman, anyway; he wondered what the older man would have thought of Fuu, and the journey to find her father. Mm. Fruitless thought, really. He might as well wonder what his real father would have thought of the girl — the woman, he corrected himself. Maybe Takeda Chozaburo would have had some piece of wisdom for him. Hn. He probably would have asked his only child instead how it was that Jin had managed to break a katana that had been in the family for over three hundred years, after having it in his possession for just over twenty-four months. The only other man around to ask for — wait. Had he just considered asking Mugen for advice? Regarding Fuu? He groaned inwardly.

A pine knot cracked loudly, as the fire consumed it. _Snap_. Mugen twitched in his sleep.

It was questionable as to whether there was anything he needed advice for, which was the problem. He didn't doubt Mugen's tale of being charged nine monme at the whorehouse, or that Fuu had lived for a short while in Kyoto, where she'd met someone. Someone who, apparently, she'd felt something for, to the point where she had — had she felt something for this man?

Or had he _taken_ it from her?

Unnoticed, a small muscle in his jaw tightened.

If he had, he would die, _slowly, _he thought. Some small part of his mind asked him what he would kill the man for, having done something so wrong, or Fuu having felt something for the man. _Shut up_, he told himself, and the little voice went away.

Fuu might cry, but —

And that was it, wasn't it. It was _Fuu_. Not his mother, not his sister, not a wife, not anyone he would be justified in killing for having taken her and then sending her on her way. Fuu didn't owe any explanation to either himself or Mugen.

How to solve a problem, when there was none there?

He gave up on meditation, for the evening. The fire had died down a bit, he saw; he snapped a small piece of kindling in half and fed it to the flames.

"Jin?" Startled, he looked up at her. She was still looking into the fire, eyelids drooping. He noticed then just how_ tired_ she appeared — she'd slept last night, he'd thought, even if they'd woken early to get further away from Kasumi, but she looked as if she hadn't slept for about a week.

"Mm?" He kept his voice pitched as low as hers had been, though he could have told her it was useless if she was trying not to wake Mugen. The other man slept as lightly as he did.

"That boy at the river, the one you said was like a little brother to you. Did you love him?"

_Yukimaru_. Why — he maintained his control with difficulty, keeping emotion from washing over his face. Did he _love_ him — Jin thought of stalling, of asking whom she was talking about, but couldn't. His mouth suddenly dry, he did the only thing he could: he told her the truth. "Yes."

"He tried to kill you."

_No_. "Yes."

She was silent a moment, as he waited; as Mugen waited, he knew. The other man lay as though he were still asleep, but from where he was sitting, Jin could see the moonlight glimmering off those silvered eyes. Finally, she turned her head so that she faced him, pressing her cheek into her knees, and said, "You forgave him."

It hadn't been a question, but he knew there was one, lurking. _I would have forgiven him anything_. "Yes," he told her, again.

"Why?"

He sat for a moment. _Yukimaru_ — he wondered in passing what she knew of dojo life, how it was a world onto itself, where the sky could narrow into the reflection in a pair of beautiful eyes. He'd taken the younger boy to be his little brother in shudo, when Yuki had been fifteen and looked up at him with such yearning, so much tenderness, a hush of snowflakes falling around them in the orchard that night — "It wasn't his fault. He did it because I hurt him," he told her. He closed his eyes against the light of the fire.

(_"Why do you keep running from me?" the ghost asked. Jin was drowning in those eyes, choking in their despair, darkness closing over his head as he slipped down, down — "I will never, ever let you get away." Then his own voice, and the word of love, the sound of flesh — )_

He did not see her eyes, with his own closed; he only heard the sliding sound of silk, as she lay back on her mat. "Good night, Jin," was all she said, and the sound of fire was all that was left for him that night.

* * *

The next morning, he wondered, as they set off in the general direction of Lake Biwa. Fuu was behaving as if she'd never spoken after dinner, keeping up a cheerful chattering (the girl had some particularly useful thoughts on gambling that he filed away for future reference) and the other man was casual to a fault, rooting in his ear with a long, knobby finger. The Ryukyuan was bothered, though; Jin had noted in the past that Mugen became progressively more vulgar in his habits the more the man felt disturbed. Not that he was one to talk, he was more than a little melancholy himself. He always did, when he thought about Yukimaru — he frowned, and fished the map out of his kimono.

"Oi. Fish face. What is it?" Jin looked up to find Mugen's eyes on him. "We lost?"

"No," he answered, giving the other man a look. _You're going to thank me, later. And one of these days when you call me fish face, I'm going to make you eat dirt, nose miner boy. _"Fuu-chan, you wanted to exchange your kimono for another, correct?"

"Yes!" Her eyes lit with pleasure. "We're that close to a town already? Mou, that was quick. I didn't think we'd get to one for a couple days yet."

"We should get there some time tomorrow, I believe," he said. "There should be a crossroads up ahead, where we'll turn right. But we can't stay too long." He made a show of folding the map again and replacing it in his kimono. "I don't think we'll be too far off the road to Motomachi . . . maybe we shouldn't." He gave them both a look in which doubt was not entirely feigned; fishing was a life and death struggle between man and fish.

Mugen's eyes had narrowed thoughtfully, as Fuu looked happy enough to levitate from the path. "No! It shouldn't take long at all," she blurted, a little grin working its way across her face, visions of bathtubs dancing in her head. "We could probably even stay overnight."

"Hn. Possibly," Jin allowed. She quickened her pace, leading them forward. Mugen hung back slightly, still watching the ronin. When he saw Jin looking back at him, he raised one eyebrow. _What are you doing?_

Jin shook his head imperceptibly, and flicked his eyes in the direction of the young woman. _I'll tell you, later_.

Mugen drew his eyebrows together and scowled. _No. __**What**_ _are you doing?_

Jin scowled back. _Trust me, stupid._

Mugen rolled his eyes and made an obscene pumping motion with his left fist behind Fuu's back. _Whatever._ He lengthened his stride to catch up to Fuu, as Jin shook his head again.

Ah, friendship was a beautiful thing.

* * *

Except, of course, when one of those friends was yelling at you, at the top of her lungs.

"You JERKS!"

". . . " Jin opened his mouth, but she steamrollered over him, still ranting.

"I thought you meant some village! You did this on purpose! You knew —" Fuu visibly caught herself before coming anywhere near to completing that sentence, as he listened with great interest. Knew _what_, he wanted to ask, but kept quiet. There was at least an equal chance that she attempt his strangulation over answering the question, and then he'd have to subdue her Her eyes sparked dangerously at him, her chest heaving under the silk, and — hn. Subduing. Yes. The parent bead of his prayer bracelet was unsatisfactorily loose, he'd have to see to that — he glared at Mugen, who was staring at Fuu, mesmerized by those bobbing breasts, up and down, up and down, her heart beating furiously underneath — he tore his eyes away. At this rate, he'd end up as much a pervert as the Ryukyuan. There were thirty-six beads accompanying the parent bead. _Um_.

She glowered at them both, before biting her lip — he gritted his teeth in order not to let out a low moan at the sight; why was he coming so completely undone? It was Fuu, for the sake of all the gods, he'd seen her angry countless times before, what was _wrong_ with him — and getting herself back under control. Finally, she took a deep breath, Mugen emitting a tiny whimper, and poked Jin in the chest with her finger.

He blinked. _Ow. _Her nails were surprisingly sharp through the cotton of his kimono.

She hissed, "_Fine_. You're both coming with me to sell this, and then we're finding a place to stay, that's it. We're leaving first thing in the morning. Got it?" She gave the Ryukyuan one last angry look before starting down the hill to Kyoto.

Hn. It was — a sensible plan, actually, he had to admit. Probably a better one than his idea of licking the underside of her — wait.

Distracted, he hurried after his companions, as Mugen asked, "So how did you _not_ realize this was where we were going? I thought you lived here for half a year or something."

"It was five months! And I didn't walk this way to Kasumi!"

"Still. How dumb are you?" The other man was grinning at her as he caught up.

"You're a jackass, you know that? No. You're why jackasses have a bad name!"

* * *

There was very little to Kyoto that was not beautiful. Jin had never been there before, and for a while contented himself with following behind the other two, looking around. There was a small, lovely temple complex filled with maples he'd particularly have liked to explore at his leisure — the gardens! — but the small whirlwind leading their tiny procession seemed to be intent on whisking them to a specific destination as quickly as she could.

They had entered a side street of shops and teahouses, Fuu muttering something under her breath about how this should be far enough out that it would be all right, before she ducked into the kimono-seller's. Thankfully, she left them outside, with the stern warning "Don't do _anything_," before she entered the shop and the two men could hear the sounds of Fuu bargaining.

Mugen sidled up to Jin. "How are we supposed to find the guy this way?"

"Hn." It would be next to impossible. The city was simply too large, and without asking her directly what the man's name was, what he looked like, where he was likely to spend his time — somehow, he thought wryly, he doubted she'd cooperate — their search was likely to be unsuccessful. "It would be best if we found a place where she was well known."

"Could try the gambling houses," Mugen offered.

The ronin mulled this over. "That would be a good idea," he said finally.

"Kill the asshole, maybe make a little money for the trip, evening well spent."

Jin gave him a skeptical look. "You have acorns you wish to lose?"

Before Mugen could answer, Fuu emerged from the door of the shop, wearing a pink kimono. She gave them a displeased look, having heard the last question. "What is with you two? I swear, Mugen, if you start telling me what a babe I am and how on the ball I am, I am gonna hit you both so hard — "

The Ryukyuan gave her a look of such hurt at being justly accused. "What is your problem? You tell us 'don't do anything', we don't do anything, so you start bitching?"

_Well, other than planning to kill an old lover of yours, but that doesn't count, does it, _Jin thought idly.

"You're right. I'm sorry. We'll have dinner, then let's just get some sleep and leave in the morning, okay?" She gave them a smile of what oddly looked like relief, when Jin heard a man's voice coming from the street behind them. She froze, eyes wide.

"Ojosama!" _A noblewoman_? _Here? _The shops were nice enough, but hardly anything he would expect a noblewoman to have an interest in — he looked back, seeing no one but a running man, and an elderly woman haggling with a shopkeeper over plums — Mugen was already looking over at Fuu, who appeared to be having some sort of attack, her face gone the red of ripe strawberries. _What the — ?_

The man skidded to a halt before them, clasping Fuu's hands in his own as she stared at him. "My ojosama! I knew you'd come back to me!"

Jin could hear Mugen mumbling curses under his breath, his gray eyes knife blades as she stood there gaping up at the stranger, who was not at all attractive, with idiotic pretty hair, and a smarmy smile with way too many teeth that the ronin itched to smash into something, preferably some sort of public latrine — he gave a frustrated growl, low in his throat. Mugen broke off his cursing for a moment, as the stupid, stupid man continued to twitter at their Fuu, to dart a shocked glance at Jin. Louder than he'd thought, then. Dammit.

_Shit_.

Wait. _Ojosama_ — ?


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own _Samurai Champloo _or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Neither do I own the haiku of Matsuo Basho (translation by Haruo Shirane, this chapter).

A/N: Much love to everyone who's been kind enough to R & R; your fabulousness is of the amazing and the way to my heart — thanks, all! I seem to be rewarding you with the chapter that went Godzilla, but . . . yeah. Um?

We're coming to the top of the first hill on our roller coaster ride, so check your seat belts and keep hands and feet inside the car at all times.

* * *

_**Nenju**_

_VI. Are faintly white_

* * *

At some point, Fuu was convinced, her head was going to explode.

Either that, or the man who was holding her hands in his and smiling at her — she had forgotten just how _pretty_ he was, he was almost as handsome as Jin — was going to die. Although, she amended, catching a glimpse of her yojimbo, he might have a few minutes while they battled it out for the right to kill him. Maybe this was that Christian hell Jin had been talking about in the forest outside Kasumi?

She gave the man the brightest, perkiest smile she could manage under the circumstances and turned to face her companions. "Toku, I want you to meet my friends, Mugen and Jin," she managed to get out before her voice stuck in her throat. Silently, she added, _Mugen, Jin, meet Toku. Say, would you mind not killing him? _Her conviction that the man from Kyoto was seconds away from the afterlife was only strengthened by looking at their faces; Mugen's hand was behind his head, resting on the hilt of his longsword, and Jin wore that speculative, cold look that always made her shiver, thumb resting against the guard of his katana.The impression of having fireworks with a lit fuse inside her head intensified.

She could always break them out of jail, she supposed—

Toku kept her hand in his as he turned to face the other men, who were taken aback when he did something unexpected: he smiled and bowed. _No, no, don't do it, Toku — _"It is a pleasure to meet the men who have brought my Fuu-chan back safely. Please, would you consider staying at my house this evening? It's the least I can do to thank you," he said.

Jin blinked, as Mugen's jaw fell.

_Kaboom!_

* * *

The Christian hell (because, she figured, _this_ had to be it) was actually . . . well, _nice_.

Mugen was unabashedly gaping at the room they were in, and even Jin looked as if he was impressed in a tiny way . . . or, possibly, thinking about how best to clean his wakizashi. She sighed. Men. Toku was the only one completely ignoring their surroundings, which she put down to seeing them every day, and the fact that he was still looking at her with that dreamy, moony expression of his face like he'd been hit on the head.

She'd been to the house of Komeya no Toku once before, before she'd left for Kasumi, and it hadn't changed much — the room was long and airy, and she could tell the tatami maker had been in recently to change the covers; the mats were still faintly green, and the scent of freshly cut hay lingered in the air. The fusuma were left partially open, but they now bore the painted scene of rice paddies in spring, which was new. She thought the scroll hanging in the small alcove at the head of the room was also new, but hadn't had the chance to look at it closely. It was all very rich, and very clean, and shouted that Toku was Someone Important.

It was all, she thought and was instantly ashamed of herself, a little too much.

It wasn't that the house wasn't beautiful — it was — or that she didn't like being able to sit in a comfortable room — she did — but she could have told him that he was trying too hard. It was evident to everyone but Toku that this was the house of ashigaru, not quite farmer and not quite samurai. Even Mugen, she thought, knew that there was something a bit off. It was an unkind thought and she thought a little less of herself for thinking it. Still . . . if she hadn't been samurai herself, she wondered not for the first time, would Toku have been as interested in her as he was? He'd called her ojosama as a joke the first time she'd met him at the gambling house, and then the next; she wasn't sure when it had stopped being a joke. She smiled sourly to herself. Maybe, she thought, _she_ was the joke.

The sun was setting as the servants brought their meal, tofu dumplings with eggplant, which she'd mentioned once to him as one of the things about Kyoto that she particularly liked. She noted with some amusement that Jin had been seated in the place of honor, right next to the scroll alcove, with Mugen right next to him; Toku had an excellent view of Mugen as they ate. She almost felt sorry for him, as the Ryukyuan poked suspiciously at the food, then began to wolf it down in earnest. Toku's eyes widened, but he managed to keep up his end of the conversation without staring too much at Mugen's table manners. She stifled a little giggle, as she met Jin's eyes. The corner of his mouth twitched upward, the tiniest expression of amusement crossed his face before he was calmly listening to their host once more. Toku had evidently decided that the ronin was in charge of Fuu and Mugen, and so was directing most of his attention to Jin, who gave him the bare minimum of polite small talk. It was all right; Toku was talking enough for an army of silent ronin.

" — which is what my friend Sugimori-san says, but the poor man is obsessed with suicide. _Most_ unhealthy. I'm sure you remember him, Fuu-chan, his father used to come in all the time and talk about the books the westerners had on medicine. Sugimori-san was thinking of traveling to Nagasaki for western studies, but now he talks of nothing but the theater." Toku patted her arm, as if to reassure himself that she was still there, and gave her a blindingly white smile. "He has this idea about puppets — "

She made a small noise of interest in the somewhat one-sided conversation — Sugimori? Puppets? Mm, eggplant — and shook her head mentally. _Fuu-chan. Gaaaah. _She wasn't sure why it was annoying when Toku said it but not when Jin called her that, deciding to abandon that train of thought immediately if not sooner. Jin and Mugen were her friends, odd fantasies aside, so obviously they thought of her affectionately. As one would think of a little sister, probably.

_Hn._ She stabbed at a mushroom with her chopsticks and bit into it viciously. Mugen looked up from his dumplings — how, she wondered, had he gotten rice on his _forehead? _— at her sudden movement. She gave him a warm smile and shook her head to let him know it was nothing. He shrugged and gave her cup a significant glance, which she ignored.

" — my lord is still unconvinced as to its wisdom concerning the harvest, but the westerners do have some interesting things. Take the sword that _you_ carry, for instance. I have no small experience with the sword, but I have never seen anything quite like it," Toku said; it took her a moment to realize he was addressing Mugen.

Mugen looked equally surprised, mumbling his answer through a last gulp of rice. "Hm?"

"Yes, it's quite unusual," Jin answered. "But effective." He sipped cautiously at some sake. He'd been nursing the same cup throughout the meal, to Fuu's great relief. She had not, but her head for sake was a little better than his; she felt pleasantly relaxed, and happy, and if the servants would clear the dishes from in front of her, she could indulge in a nice little nap.

"Perhaps — I know you plan to leave tomorrow, but if you would care to spar with me in the morning? I would enjoy seeing your Ryukyu style. Nothing too strenuous," Toku said. "A friendly match. I would keep myself in check, of course. Then possibly a lesson in bujutsu? Although I'm sure that Takeda-san is an excellent tutor, sometimes it's good to practice with another swordsman, and I have a good deal of experience." He laughed, modestly. "In fact, I am unbeaten in _eleven_ duels."

"Of course," Mugen said, his eyes glittering unpleasantly as he grinned. "Eleven duels, you say? That's, uh, impressive."

Jin eyed them both. "It has been a very pleasant evening, Komeya-dono, but I'm afraid that it may be getting late." He nodded at Fuu, who was having a hard time keeping her eyes open.

"Oh, I am sorry. I had forgotten that you must be tired from traveling, but with such enjoyable company — " their host rose gracefully to his feet, hakama elegantly draped. He led them down a broad hallway, toward a series of fusuma doors set into the wall, stopping when he reached the first. "The servants have prepared this room for you — you've been put in together, if that's all right?"he asked the other men, who nodded.

"Yes, thank you," Jin answered. "And Fuu?"

Toku paused. "At the end of the hall," he replied. "I believe you will be very comfortable, Fuu-chan."

"Thank you." Fuu yawned. "This is really nice of you, Toku."

"My pleasure." Casually, he took her arm, nodding at the other men. "Then I will say good night. If you do find you need something, there is always a servant at the door."

"Thank you." Neither Jin nor Mugen showed any signs of moving, Mugen even going so far as to give their host a cheeky grin.

Toku gave a small sigh and placed his hand possessively on the small of her back. "I would be very happy if you would join me for a walk in the garden, my ojosama." She nodded, as he steered her away; over her shoulder, she could hear an odd noise that sounded suspiciously like someone grinding their teeth together. She shook her head to clear it. Obviously, she'd had more to drink than she should have.

* * *

Her head was clearing a little by the time she set foot on the immaculately raked gravel path, but he kept a firm grip on her arm. It was surprisingly quiet, considering that outside the garden wall lay a city of over a quarter million people; she could hear the _tok_ of a bamboo deer scarer as it emptied water into a small pond, and a breeze rustling through the leaves.

The gravel crunched underfoot, as their shadows stretched long before them in the light from the house. She glanced back and her mouth quirked into a smile — the shoji screen separating Jin and Mugen's room had been inadvertently on purpose left partially open to the garden, and she wondered if it was possible to find any better chaperones than her mismatched yojimbo.

Toku drew her into the picturesque shadow of a gnarled old willow, and moved his hand from her arm to her waist. "Fuu, you are as beautiful as ever," he said, looking down at her. "I have thought of no other woman but you since you left."

He really was _so_ very, very pretty — "Um, thank you?" she fumbled. He was less similar to Jin than she'd thought, she decided; the ronin had filled out a little in the two years since Ikitsuki Island, becoming a little less the starved boy, but he was still so _wild_. Toku had neither Jin's fierce spirit nor his innate grace — what she'd thought was graceful in the man pulling her gently to him was what she'd wanted to find. He was only a handsome man, but in the end, she knew it wouldn't be enough, for herself or for him.

Still, she did like his hair, long and dark, tied at the back of his head neatly; she slipped her hand up to rest against it as he leaned in to kiss her.

His lips were soft, and pleasant, and — she felt nothing. Gently, she patted his shoulder as he pulled away, his eyes warm as he looked at her. "Ojosama," he said quietly, and drew her down to sit on a bench under the willow. "May I ask you something?"

"Mm? Anything."

He laced her fingers into his own. "I should not be asking you this, but as your father is dead, and you have no one to speak for you — " He was uncharacteristically nervous; she watched, as he bit his lip. "It is time for me to take a wife, and — "

_Oh_. "Toku," she said, shaking her head. Her eyes went involuntarily to the half-open screen, where she imagined she saw a shadow flicker against the lantern light.

"Please. Don't answer me now — take the night to think about it." His eyes were dark and pleading and _wrong_ —

She closed her own, but found herself saying, "All right. In the morning. I'll think about it." It was, she thought, the least she could give him.

* * *

"Hey." She'd been expecting a quiet voice at her door; just not this one.

"Hey, yourself. Come in."

The fusuma slid open and shut behind him as, barefoot, he padded over to sit at the side of her futon. She sat up.

"What's going on? You want me to light the lantern?"

He shrugged, shaking his head no. "Jin's trying to meditate. Never thought I'd complain that he couldn't just sit there, but — "

She nodded. "He's been acting really weird. You don't — ?" She looked at him hopefully.

Mugen eyed her. "What am I, a woman? You want to know, _you_ ask him."

She rolled her eyes in frustration. What was he, twelve? He knew perfectly well what she was asking, he was perceptive enough —

"Anyway, I don't care about that. What's going on with you and lover boy there?" Those silvery eyes glimmered at her in the darkened room. The air still held the warmth of the late summer day and he was close enough for her to smell him; his scent was pleasant, Mugen overlaid with soap. He must have taken a bath, she thought distantly. She knew it didn't bother him to do without, but that he would take the opportunity to be clean when he could. Another way in which she and Jin left their mark on him — they had all left marks on each other. She rubbed her arm, trying to dispel the goosebumps that had come up.

_Not this again. _"Nothing's going on," she told him. "I'm not what he thinks I am, I never have been. He just wants me because he thinks this is a good way for him to find a wife from a samurai family."

"I heard you outside, Fuu. I know what he wants."

"Mm." Now it was her turn to shrug. She lay back, closing her eyes. "He's not going to get it."

He gave her an exasperated look. "I don't get you."

"Hn? I'm tired now. Go away." She waited for the sound of him standing up, the fusuma sliding back and closed again, footsteps moving down the hall toward the room he shared with Jin . . . nothing. Nothing? Was he still there? Maybe he'd gone out the shoji into the garden, but she would have heard that, wouldn't she — ?

She opened her eyes a fraction to see Mugen's water-colored ones a finger's breadth away from hers, looking directly at her. In the faint moonlight, the scars on his cheek were dark, like dried blood —

"_Eeee_!" She scrambled backwards. "What are you _doing_? You — you weirdo! What's wrong with you?"

"What's going on, Fuu?" He casually settled back against her covers, cushioning his head with her leg. _What the hell_ — she realized that not only was he prepared to stay all night in order to have an answer to his question, he was also prepared to cut off any avenue of escape she might plan. She narrowed her eyes and surreptitiously tried to slip her leg out from under him; he responded by yawning, rolling onto his side — and looping his arm comfortably over her thighs. He grinned up at her.

_Oooo!_ She was going to — do _something_. When she figured out what, she would do it, but for now her brain was busy, helpfully pointing out, _he's touching you. Cover's not as thick as you thought, is it? _She squashed that down, compressing her lips together into a strict line to let him know that This. Did. Not. Affect. Her.

At _all_.

A tiny part of her (which she concentrated on kicking into a deep mental hole, where it would never, ever get out) brought it to her attention that the last time she tried squirming out from under him, more of him had ended up on top of her, so perhaps if she tried it a second time — _gaaaah!_

"Hm?" His eyes were amused, watching her.

"If I scream — " she began.

He yawned and scratched himself with his free hand. "Go ahead."

"What?"

"I said, go ahead." He leaned in, a little closer. "Maybe I should be asking lover boy why he's not the one who's making you scream, mm?" His voice was silky and she could feel the rumble of his voice against her thighs. "So, if you did, I wouldn't have to walk down to his room to ask him, would I? He wants to, you know."

_Did he_ — she gaped at him. "Did you get hit in the head?" she hissed. "Because you sound like — "

"What's going on?" he repeated.

"Are you _jealous_?" She was dreaming, she must be — any moment now, she'd wake up. She'd be late for work at the teahouse, and her miso and rice would be cold, and none of this would have ever happened except in her head.

He gave her an odd, speculative look. "Dummy," he said at last, voice softening. "It _wasn't_ him, was it?"

_Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit._

She pulled the covers over her head as much as she could. "I'm not talking to you about this. Good night, now go away. Go to bed," she commanded, squinching her eyes tightly shut. She heard him sigh, then felt him move off her legs. She let go a deep breath and felt herself relax. She'd hear the fusuma, any moment now —

She felt the brief flicker of cooler air, as the covers fluttered back for an instant and closed around her again. This time, however, there was a strong, sinewy body under the light quilt with her; her rational mind threw up its hands and decided it was going off to spend the night at some inn, because reason? Not happening. If it was, she would deduce that simply because she could feel another person in her bed, that the person was actually there, and that the person was Mugen, which — she peeked out from between her lashes to see him propped up on one elbow and facing in her direction, lying in bed with her. In bed. With her. Um.

_Eeee!_

And really, _really_ close to her; she could feel the coarse hair on his legs prickling through the fine material of the juban she was wearing, as well as his warm breath on her face. "Okay. So who was it?" he asked. He was so, so warm, she thought, as rational Fuu shook her head in disappointment and went back to admiring the moon. Irrational Fuu could only say things like _Man! In bed! _and _Bed!_ _Mugen!_ before she wibbled into a post and knocked herself out cold.

"Wha — " She blinked.

"Hey, not my idea. You're the one who told me to go to bed." He twitched at the quilt, making himself comfortable. He considered her pillow briefly, then shook his head.

"I did _not_ — " she began heatedly, poking him in the shoulder. His eyebrows lifted, as she moved against him and the extent of what she was wearing became apparent to them both. Face flaming, she rolled over; maybe he'd go away if she stopped talking.

He draped an arm over her hip and pulled her back into his chest. "So if it _wasn't_ lover boy . . . " he said thoughtfully. "Believe me, I'm not going to forget about him — there's _another_ guy?" His voice sounded vaguely surprised.

She gritted her teeth. "There _is_ no other guy. None. Now, will you get out and leave me alone?"

He leaned in close, his lips next to her ear. "No."

"Go. Away."

"I don't like it when I don't know what's going on," that silky voice rumbled. "So, two choices: you can tell me, and I get out of your bed, or you don't tell me, and lover boy wakes up tomorrow morning to see me strolling out of here."

"What makes you think I care about what he sees?" she said. "But, you snore — so, no."

"Fuu. Come on, it's _me_," he said, and poked her in the shoulder with his long, knobby finger. "Are you worried about what I'm going to think? Or Jin? Because I don't necessarily have to tell him if you don't want me to."

She snorted. "Try that one on your granny. You tell him _everything_."

"Hah. Fish face wouldn't need to know — "

The fusuma slid open, for the second time since she'd gone to bed, as they both looked up. _Really,_ she thought distantly, _they might as well have camped outside Kyoto for all the sleep she wasn't getting_, as she squinted to make out who was at the door. With her luck, it was probably Toku, come to see what the noise was. At least when he kicked them out, she wouldn't have to hear him call her Fuu-chan any more. Or tell him yes or no, which would be nice.

She smelled cotton, and clove oil — then the moonlight was enough for her to see Jin standing over them, his eyes dark and _furious _as he looked down at them, taking in her loose hair and the hand on her shoulder.

"Jin — " She could feel Mugen silently tensing up behind her, as his attention shifted to the ronin. Her stomach did a lazy flip as she realized what he must have heard. "It's not — "

She never saw him move.

She felt Mugen being pulled out from behind her, then saw his feet dangling above the floor momentarily, a pale fist gripping the front of Mugen's haori. Jin gave her an unreadable look, and they were gone, with only the passing warmth where she'd shared her futon to let her know she hadn't imagined the whole thing.

Bewildered, she lay awake for some time before finally falling asleep.

* * *

Day broke clear and fresh, with the promise that it would be warm and humid later on. The kimono refused to lay quite right against the nape of her neck as she sat on the steps, watching Toku instructing Mugen on the use of the sword; it would have been funny if her headache would go away and her mouth wasn't quite as dry. Or if Toku hadn't looked quite as crushed when she'd given him her quiet no, a moment ago.

Mugen stood, longsword in hand, eyebrow raised, as the other man demonstrated an upward thrust. He'd said nothing to her when he'd come out of the house and dropped his pack at the side of the steps, just a movement of his head to indicate he'd seen her. She'd been standing next to Toku at the time; she was grateful for this unlooked-for sensitivity.

Toku nodded, and the two men drew apart. Mugen stood loose and ready, Toku with his feet planted shoulder width apart but his elbows locked — she could have told him that while he might have won eleven duels, he wouldn't be winning a twelfth today if he stood like that — when she heard a disturbance at the front door. _Hm?_

She turned to see a very stormy-looking Jin jerk his katana out of the grasp of the servant at the door and stride past her. He bit out a terse "We're _leaving_," before he crossed the courtyard to the two startled men. "Komeya-dono, our thanks, but we must be leaving."

"But — our sword lesson?" Toku gaped up at the very cranky ronin, who narrowed his eyes at him, and moved — the katana describing a perfect silver arc in the air — steel on steel ringing out, before the other's hands were empty.

"Your wrists need strengthening," Jin told him, and walked out through the gate toward Motomachi. Her dejected suitor watched them go — Fuu sketching a quick, apologetic wave toward him, the Ryukyuan with the scarred face swinging his pack over his back and nodding as he went by — sitting a long moment before he got up.

There were other women, he thought; but he knew there were no eyes finer than those seen in the roll of the dice. He'd never see her again, he knew.

* * *

Small translation note: ojosama is a title that was used to address young, unmarried noblewomen. It's not too far afield to think of it as equivalent roughly to 'miss', but slightly higher in social status; when Toku addresses Fuu as ojosama, he's giving her higher rank than he himself has. Not bad, for a girl who rolled dice for a living.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I don't own _Samurai Champloo _or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Neither do I own the haiku of Matsuo Basho (translation by R.H. Blyth, this chapter).

WARNING: Contains graphic violence, and implied sexual assault.

* * *

_**Nenju**_

_VII. From time to time_

* * *

He'd pushed them — hard — to get to Motomachi.

Jin knew he was being unreasonable; it wasn't as if they had a set date on which they needed to be at the temple grounds. Mugen had stopped speaking to him except when he deemed it absolutely necessary ("Oi. Fish face. We stopping for the night, or you got a bug up your ass about that?"), and Fuu was very quiet. Part of it had been the pace, of course — they'd covered the ground from Kyoto to Motomachi in very little more than a week's time, which left less breath with which to talk than usual — but most of it was in the ridiculous house of that overly pretty ashigaru. Hn. Give him a decent peasant any day, not some crackbrained _rice merchant_ who was in the habit of proposing to girls under some idiotic willow tree after he'd given them much too much sake.

(Eleven duels, his _ass_.)

Not that the ashigaru bothered him. Much.

It was the criminal from the Ryukyus that bothered him.

The expression on his face, when Jin had slid back the fusuma, had been more damning than Mugen's presence in her futon. It wasn't as if he was surprised — the criminal had made no secret of his attention to Fuu, what with his pointedly bringing her things like plums and apples and fish. She'd looked so panicked, he'd known nothing had happened that he'd have to kill the other man over; it was the idea that Mugen might have been willing to do something they'd planned to kill the ashigaru for doing that had spurred him to yank the other man out of her bed like a puppy.

_What would you have done in his place?_ that little voice at the back of his mind nagged. _Shogi lessons? _

_Shut _up, he told the little voice. _Mm. Talking to myself now. Good. Excellent. At this rate, I should be as crazy as Yukimaru by next week._

His hand crept up to rub at the bridge of his nose.

Although, it hadn't been the ashigaru who was responsible for this mess, he could tell that much from the way the man acted around Fuu. Hn. Jin doubted she'd told him much about the journey to Nagasaki. Broad-minded as it was to want to take a former dice roller to wife, he didn't think that tolerance stretched as far as to cover an ex-brothel girl. On the other hand, a former prostitute wouldn't bother the Ryukyuan —

Fuu and Mugen exchanged startled glances when the sound of teeth being ground together came from under Jin's kasa.

— and brothel girls and lecherous samurai were the stuff of jokes, they appeared together in songs and stories so often.

_Shit._

"Hey!" he heard Fuu call out excitedly to Mugen. "I can see the temple from here!"

Jin thanked the gods; the monk had been very helpful the last time. And if he could help him sort out a small thing like the duties of a warrior, then women shouldn't be too difficult. Right? Right.

* * *

He stepped lightly onto the wood planks, smiling faintly as he noticed that the planks had become a little more faded than when they'd stayed at the temple. He wondered who Father Zuikou had managed to talk into scrubbing the floors; other travelers? Pilgrims, perhaps. He did like the idea of the shogun's men stopping here to question the old monk, who would be wily enough to figure out a way to set a gathering of daimyo to do his chores for him. He'd have had Kariya chopping wood, certainly.

Jin put his hand out to the shoji but stopped as he heard the sound of voices inside. The voice of courtesy (which sounded suspiciously like the voice of Mariya-dono, he noted with amusement) asked if he was in such a hurry that he would risk the rudeness of interrupting, and he decided to wait a moment. She had been so intent on coming here in the first place — he heard the familiar clatter of geta behind him. He turned to look at Mugen, who stopped and raised an eyebrow questioningly at him, until he caught the sound of the conversation as well.

"— and Jin and Mugen told me that the shogun's men were trying to find me again," she was saying. "I don't know, though. You'd think they'd have been able to find us by now. I'm starting to think that they're overreacting a little."

Mugen gave an irritated sniff, but kept quiet.

"Mm. So I'm harboring fugitives under this roof?" the monk's voice was warm, and full of humor. "Well, I'm glad to hear it. And that you thought to come here. It is the purpose of a temple, to shelter those who have need. But — if you'll forgive me, I would have expected you to be a little happier, my dear."

Jin drew his hand back, as there was silence for a moment. "I was so angry at my father," Fuu said quietly. "But when I got there, he was so _small_, and I could smell the sickness on him — all I could say were these terrible things to him. I think — I will feel guilty for saying those things for the rest of my life."

"Mm. Did he say anything back to you?"

"He said he'd never stopped thinking of us, of me and my mother."

"Is it so hard to believe, that your father loved you? And that he would have forgiven you for saying what you did?" the monk asked her gently. "You must let go and allow him to complete his journey, of death and rebirth."

"No, I know he understood. But — " Awkwardly, she stopped. "I was so foolish, I — "

"In what you said?"

"It wasn't — before he died, there was — "

The monk's voice was puzzled. "He said something to you before that?"

"No. It — it wasn't him. I couldn't find my father, and no one would tell me — "

Noiselessly, Jin drew closer to the shoji; he looked over at Mugen, who was staring intently at the screen, his eyebrows knit together in thought.

"But finally, there was this woman who said — and then when I was walking, there were these two men in this field of sunflowers, one who sat in this weird chair, and — there was one with an eyepatch."

Mugen stiffened; Jin watched as the criminal's attention fixed on the sound of her voice. The last time Mugen had paid attention to anything that closely, he thought, was when they'd been sitting at the quay in Nagasaki, and that creature with the yellow hair had shown up, taunting him about having the girl. She was talking about those three brothers, the ones Mugen had fought, Jin realized.

The monk made a soft sound of encouragement.

"I tried to run, but I couldn't get away, and then the one with the eyepatch, he was there, and then he was touching me — he hit me, and then he — his _hands_, and then he — " She stopped. Jin could hear her struggling not to cry, and the sound made something fracture inside him. _Oh, Fuu_ — the world around him stilled, condensed into the pinpoint of her voice. "I thought he was going to kill me, after — "

The old monk paused, then spoke. "Your companions — do they know?"

"No. Please, promise me you won't tell them. Please. I couldn't — the way they'd look at me. _Please_." Her voice was thick. "I'm so sorry — "

Stunned, he pushed back against the post, sinking to the floor. He put out his fingers to the planks, the old wood furred and rough. Everything was so clear, so sharp, etching itself into his memory — he realized his hands were shaking. He looked up at Mugen, who was staring at the warm glow of the shoji, eyes filled with screaming, as the longsword fell from his fingers. The Ryukyuan turned and haltingly walked away from the building to the edge of the courtyard that the light did not reach, where he dropped to the ground.

* * *

Behind him, he could faintly hear Mugen retching; he wished he could ease his body in that way, but he was frozen, his body heavy as lead, as death, their words as clear to him as if he were seated alongside the monk and the woman. The older man was murmuring to her now, soft words like those for a broken child, as her breathing hitched once, and again. The old Fuu would have cried, he knew, but this one — it was as if the ability to cry had been taken from her as well.

_She never said. Not once — how could we _not_ have known?_ She'd been different, quieter when they'd woken, and he'd put it down to the death of her father and Kariya. Stupid, he was so _stupid_ — there had been the scrapes and bruises on her face, but he'd assumed those had been from when she'd been held at the Christian temple. He hadn't thought about how it had been a week after that, he'd thought only to ask Mugen if the three men were dead and no longer a threat. After a week, the marks should have faded — try as he might, he couldn't remember her face when Kariya had backed her onto the cliff's edge, only her defiant eyes, then the fighting and the darkness and the pain like ice at his heart —

She'd been holding herself stiffly, he remembered that. _Gods_. He closed his eyes. There were so many points at which he could have done something differently, could have kept her safe; he could have, _should_ have seen through that strange little errand she'd manufactured for them so she could slip away, he could have sent Mugen to the island more quickly, he could have locked his arms around her that night by the river and kept her away from that _fucking island —_

His face was wet, he realized.

He scrubbed roughly at his eyes with his palms, automatically registering the sound of Mugen getting up and stumbling away toward the center of town. A second later, he understood that Mugen was gone — and with him, the longsword.

* * *

In the end, it wasn't that hard to find him.

* * *

"Come on, you bastards!"

The last yakuza Mugen had been fighting looked up at the Ryukyuan, face naked and afraid. "Please — " the man said brokenly. He screamed then, his hands full of blood, where the longsword came away and he clutched at his stomach. The back alley smelled like a butcher's, or like Jin would have imagined a battlefield; he'd been in the presence of enough of the dead — he'd created enough of them, he thought — to recognize the loose stink of piss and shit, the thread of iron weaving through to let him know just how much blood had been spilled. A surprising amount, he thought as he stepped around a hand lying open on the ground, but then Mugen had always been a prodigy with a sword.

"Fight me, damn you!" The gray eyes were wide and glazed with the need to hurt, the need to pour pain out and into someone else. "Why won't you fight me, you son of a bitch? Get up!" He kicked the bloody man, who moaned and curled protectively around his wounds, longsword drawn up for the killing blow.

"_Mugen_!" Jin shouted. The other man jerked, unseeing, sword slicing the air toward him — the countless hours at the dojo flowed through his fingers, drawing the katana and blocking before he was run through. "Enough!"

The gray eyes flickered, slowing — as Jin pulled back a moment too late to entirely avoid the vicious punch Mugen threw at him. Had it struck him in the chest, he had no doubt there would have been serious damage; he heard the longsword clatter to the ground as he took the brunt of the punch in the shoulder. The ronin dropped his katana; the other man would not draw his sword on him, he'd use his fists or feet instead.

Mugen swung on him, as Jin ducked and struck out at that unprotected middle. He felt ribs give slightly, before the other man tackled him and they rolled on the bloodied ground. Mugen tried to knee him in the groin, but Jin brought his legs to the side and clipped him in the chin with his fist; he felt the skin over his knuckles split on impact — he'd feel that tonight, he thought distantly. Then Mugen smashed him in the mouth with his forehead, and he stopped thinking as the taste of copper filled his mouth. He welcomed the pain, thoughts of the woman receding to a dull, manageable ache.

He brought his thumbs up to gouge at the criminal's face, hissing as he felt sharp teeth sink into the skin between his thumb and index finger. Jin jammed his forearm against Mugen's throat, pressing in — then there was a foot in his stomach, flipping him off and over. He rolled up, using the momentum from the throw the way Mariya-dono had taught him, spitting out blood as he dropped into a crouch.

They circled each other warily. The other man's face was dirty, covered in smears of grit and scarlet, his eyes glittering and wet. He watched Jin strangely, any knowledge of him as friend gone, replaced by awareness of the ronin as threat. He dropped fluidly to his hands, metal edge of those geta slicing out toward the place where Jin's throat had been a second before. He fell heavily back then, as Jin hit him in the stomach with his shoulder, air being violently driven out of his lungs. He thrashed wildly under the ronin, who knelt on his chest, pinning him to the ground, losing his grip on his shoulders —

"_Fuck_ —" Mugen gasped, bucking the ronin off. He flipped upright first, Jin gasping now, as he brought his knee up into the gray-clad abdomen. The ronin grunted in pain, but grabbed fistfuls of haori as he went down, swinging the Ryukyuan into the dirt with him. They got to their feet slowly, before Mugen lunged at him and Jin blocked once more. Mugen managed to hit him under the chin, rocking him back on his feet; Jin countered by kicking the other man in the kidneys.

Their kicks and punches were slowing now, the other man drawing in long, sobbing breaths as they tired. "Mugen," Jin croaked, voice rasping over the swollen flesh of his throat. "You have to _stop_ — "

"It's _my _fault," he heard, before Mugen went for his eyes with those ragged nails of his; Jin's foot lashed out and caught the other man in the side of the knee, forcing him to stagger.

Jin breathed in, painfully. "Shut up, " he grated. Gods, he didn't have much more left — he lurched in the slick and bloodied mud as the other man sagged into him. He caught the front of Mugen's haori before he fell. "_No_. Shut up." They slid to the ground together, breath coming in short jagged pants, Mugen's chin resting on his shoulder. He could smell bile, rank and bitter, in the other man's breath. The wounded yakuza had gone, either taken by his comrades or crawled off somewhere to die, he supposed. Jin wiped his thumb across his bottom lip, feeling where the skin had split; he looked down at his hand, unsurprised to find he was just as filthy now as Mugen.

"Asshole," the Ryukyuan whispered — whether to himself or to Jin, the ronin didn't know. "They came looking for me. Only reason it happened was because she was with me. She'd of been safe, if I wasn't anywhere near her. Don't even _try_ to tell me it's not my fault."

Jin closed his eyes. "Don't — "

"I ever tell you about what they were doing when I got there? He was working her over pretty good — I could tell she'd been spitting up blood. When I got him to let her go, she wouldn't do it, wouldn't leave me there, even — " He pushed the hair away from his face with a shaking hand. "I had to yell at her before she'd go, called her a bitch and told her to run. Even then, I don't think she would have gone if I hadn't told her I wasn't gonna die."

Calming himself with an effort, Jin said, "It was as much my fault as yours."

"The fuck you talking about? You gonna try and tell me you were with Mukuro when we hit that sugar shipment, and I just didn't _see_ you? 'Oh, yeah, I forgot — new guy, daisho, likes blue a lot'?" Mugen's voice was irritated, but the strangeness was leaching out. Instead, his voice was tired, almost defeated.

"I knew how I could kill Kariya," he said. Gods, all he wanted was to sleep, preferably until the next week. "I just — didn't. Not when I should have."

Mugen was silent for a moment, still leaning into him; the kimono cloth between them was rumpled and sticky with sweat against Jin's skin. Finally, the other man asked, "What does that have to do with anything?"

Jin sighed. Using Mugen's shoulder to lever himself up, he pushed himself off the ground, offering a hand to the other man once he was standing. His shoulder throbbed painfully and he suppressed a wince as he picked his katana off the ground. "I could have been there sooner."

The Ryukyuan laughed grimly. "Shit. Big help you would have been, with that hole through your gut." They set off in the direction of the temple, slowly, both of them moving like old men.

"Not completely unlike the one in yours, as I remember."

"Mm."

They trudged back, Jin breaking the silence between them only to ask, "What happened to them?"

"I asked Jerome once, after we woke up again," Mugen said, referring to Kasumi Seizo's elderly manservant. "He said that he helped her drag Kariya down to the beach and they burned him with the bodies there."

The ronin nodded. "Good."

Neither man spoke again before they reached the temple grounds, both lost in thought.

* * *

Fuu was less than pleased when she saw the condition in which they'd returned.

"— were you _thinking_, Mugen? How could you get that dirty in two hours' time? It's like you were rolling around in the mud, or something — " She chased the Ryukyuan toward Father Zuikou's bathtub, where she'd efficiently started water heating as soon as she'd set eyes on them. Jin slumped gratefully onto the steps; he could hear the woman's voice in counterpoint to the sounds of the nighttime temple, a pleasant background of crackling fire, crickets, and the faint tink of bells.

"You're back." The monk spoke quietly. The older man had come up behind him, his feet noiseless on the old wood.

"Hn," the ronin agreed.

The older man took in the extent of his injuries, then nodded. "You should let her draw you a bath before you sleep," he advised, with the assurance born of years in a dojo. "You'll be in less pain tomorrow if you do."

Jin closed his eyes. "No," he said honestly.

The other man considered him for a moment. "No, I suppose you won't," he said, before moving past him, carrying a faded bundle toward the bath.

* * *

"Jin?" There was a small hand on his shoulder, shaking him lightly.

Unfortunately, it was the shoulder Mugen had struck, and he winced as he woke from his doze. "Mnhrm?"

"Oh, sorry. You two really got worked over," she said, giving him a wry little smile. "I should be yelling at you, but after yelling at Mugen, I'm kind of tired. Maybe we can wait until the morning and then I can really give you a hard time. Just remind me, okay?"

"Ah." He started to get to his feet, but she put a hand on his forearm to stop him.

"Hang on. Mugen's still soaking — Father Zuikou said he'd keep an eye on him and make sure he didn't fall asleep — but I want to take a look at you, too, considering how much gravel I picked out of him." Fuu gave him a speculative look, before scooting up next to him so she could examine his face. He went very still as she touched his cheek, before continuing to talk. "He said you ran into some yakuza?"

He made a noncommittal sound, her fingertips drifting to the torn lip. _Gods_ — he could smell the sweetness of oranges on her breath.

"Hn. I'm surprised. I wouldn't have thought _yakuza_ could do this much damage to the two of you together. Maybe if there were fifty of them, and you had had too much sake," she gently teased.

He snorted, sending a ripple of air over her fingers. "These were very strong yakuza. At least fifty-one of them," he agreed, feeling a quiet tickle of gratification steal through his stomach when she smiled.

"Hold still, you have almost as much dirt in your cuts as he did." She bit her lip as she took his injured hand, holding it close to her eyes as she inspected his knuckles. "I wanted to talk to you, anyway," she confessed.

His mouth went dry. "Fuu — "

"No. I should have said something right away," she said, drawing her hand away. She wrapped her arms around her legs and looked at him sheepishly. "You just looked so angry, I didn't want — I didn't know if you would believe me."

Jin frowned. _What_ — how could she think he would be _angry_ with her? It was that piece of garbage at fault, not her —

"I know what you must be thinking, but Mugen was just being stupid when we were talking. He was asking me about — " she flushed, a pink tide rising over the top of her chest to match the kimono "— um, _girl _stuff, and I wasn't telling him and I told him to go to bed, andhegotintobedwithme."

He blinked, thinking that if Takeda Shingen could have planted Fuu in the ranks of the enemy at Nagashino to confuse them, he'd be a daimyo right now. "What?"

"It wasn't what it looked like! Really," she said nervously. "He was just being — well, _Mugen_."

He narrowed his eyes, feeling a strange mixture of skepticism and relief, as she talked. She might not have been innocent in body, but if she believed the Ryukyuan got into bed with a woman simply to _annoy_ her — he made a mental note to do something suitably evil to Mugen the next day.

"But — you looked really, really angry, and then you wouldn't talk — " Forlorn, she cast her eyes down at her hands.

"Hey." He was sitting with his good shoulder toward her, so he gave her a nudge; when she looked up, he gave her a little smile. "Not at you. I _know_ you."

Her face twisted. "Do you?" she asked, bleakly.

"Yes," he told her. "I do."

She considered this for a moment. "Mm," she said, and rested her head against him.

"Hn." He was bruised, completely filthy, and more content than he had been for months. He allowed himself to rest his cheek against her soft hair briefly — gods only knew what he smelled like to her — before straightening again. It wasn't completely all right, but it was a _start_, he thought.

"Oh, I almost forgot. This is for you." She gave him a soft, folded bundle, which he accepted curiously. "I asked Father Zuikou if there was anything you two could wear after you'd bathed," she said, grinning impishly.

He unfolded it as Mugen emerged angrily from the tiny bathhouse — what _was_ he wearing? — and stalked over to where they were sitting.

"I bet you think this is _funny_," the other man growled at Fuu, who was snickering into her hands — before she began to laugh outright at Jin, who realized what he was holding.

"That's not very nice," she told him between giggles. "I don't know why you're complaining, Jin's getting the same." Mugen's face quirked, as he gave the ronin a grin of unholy glee.

Jin sniffed disdainfully and made his way toward his waiting bath, as his companions dissolved into helpless laughter behind him.

Had there really, he thought to himself, been _nothing_ else for them to wear but monk's robes?

* * *

A/N: Fuu, I am so sorry; I wish I didn't think this happened to you.

This chapter is predicated on the last three episodes of _Samurai Champloo_, the "Evanescent Encounter" story arc; I think it's obvious that Fuu suffers some physical injury at the hands of the three former Satsumae-han brothers, though Watanabe-dono isn't particularly clear as to what exactly happened. (And probably for good reason, considering that _SC_ was already airing at a later time in the television schedule due to its graphic content.) The nature of what went on is open to interpretation, but I think my take is a likely one. Any rate, it's worth going back and watching those episodes again to make up your own mind.

On a lighter note, I believe I'm the first person to write about the old man caring for Kasumi Seizo, so I'm in uncharted waters here; I'm taking the liberty of naming him Jerome, after Amakusa Shiro, who led the force of peasants and ronin that eventually became the Shimabara Rebellion. 3Jane is a huge, huge nerd, but you knew that, right?


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I don't own _Samurai Champloo _or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Neither do I own the haiku of Matsuo Basho (translation by R.H. Blyth, this chapter).

A/N: Completely self-betaed, so I'm hoping the story still ends up set in Japan for next chapter. Eheh. Stupid final exams.

* * *

_**Nenju**_

_VIII. The clouds give rest_

* * *

It was still pleasant to be back at the Zen temple once more, even if they'd apparently traveled that quickly just so she could stand at a washing tub.

She gave the bubbling cauldron a critical look and gave it a stir. Their clothes had been so filthy, she was a little surprised that she hadn't had to change the water yet again. As she pushed Mugen's haori back down to the bottom of the tub, she wondered what had really happened last night. They were still moving stiffly this morning, nursing their cuts and bruises — Jin in particular had the most _bizarre _wound on his hand, a mark like a crescent moon sunk deep into the calloused skin between the thumb and first finger that he'd been very reluctant to show her — but they weren't any more forthcoming. When she'd asked Mugen point blank, he'd looked away and mumbled something about too much to drink and yakuza that she hadn't believed for a minute. Still . . . maybe they'd gone to the whorehouse together? Something was off — neither one of them was willing to tell her, and while she hadn't seen them in two years, they hadn't gotten any better at being able to lie to her. She was a little better at lying to them, but she still wouldn't have bet any money on her ability to keep anything from them. She was better at distracting them, she knew.

Lying . . . it wasn't lying to _not_ talk about it. It was delaying the inevitable; she knew she'd have to tell them sooner or later. Telling Father Zuikou had been much easier, relatively speaking, though she suspected that had more to do with him as more of a stranger to her than either Mugen or Jin would have been. She was pleased she hadn't cried when she'd told him. Actually, now that she thought about it, she wasn't sure that she'd cried since she'd been in the field of sunflowers; but then she hadn't been sleeping as much, and food hadn't tasted the way it used to taste. Nothing was quite as_ important_ as it used to be — she'd not wanted to be in the brothel, even less had she wanted the first customer when he'd been brought to her, but not enough to do much of anything about it. She'd watched the man with his trembling hands curiously, as if his hands undoing her juban were moving over the body of some other woman; she'd been almost startled when his face was _that_ close to hers, she could smell the soba he'd eaten earlier that day —

In the end, he'd been almost ridiculously happy with the woman who'd lain so passively underneath him. She'd accepted the extra coins he'd given her, as well as promises that he would ask for Himawari again. She didn't remember as much about the second — she'd been distracted, thinking about Sara — and the third she didn't remember at all, although she thought that his scalp had been oddly greasy. Hn. Just flesh, really. It wasn't as if any of the men would care that in her mind, she was anywhere but there, or that she hated sunflowers these days.

The field of sunflowers — resolutely, she pushed all thought of the man with the eyepatch away, along with all thoughts about when or how she'd tell her yojimbo. Her yojimbo, now _they_ were ripe for speculation: she wondered about Mugen's trip to Matsumae, what Jin had been doing since leaving Nagasaki — not that they'd tell her _enough_ without sufficient nagging.

Affectionately, she glanced over at them. They had been repairing some of the older shoji, until the monk had decided it would perhaps be a better idea to have Mugen work on replenishing the firewood supply instead. They hadn't ventured far from her side all morning, which was normal, but the degree to which they were watchful over her was not, she thought. Jin looked up then, as if he'd felt her eyes on him — he probably had, she thought, the man was disturbingly perceptive about things like that. He gave her an enquiring look, and she shook her head.

_He_'d been odd last night, even odder than Mugen. Not only had Jin looked as if he'd been brawling, he'd almost been — no, now _that_ was crazy. When she'd thought he was touching her hair last night, obviously he was doing something else, she was completely misunderstanding what he was doing and reading much too much into it. He had been tired, she knew, maybe he'd just wanted to rest his head for a very, very short catnap —_ um_.

The object of her confusion was regarding her strangely, and she gave him a little wave: _nothing to see here! No improper thoughts about ronin taking place, and definitely nothing involving ronin shoulders. Or the backs of ronin heads. Nope! _He looked unconvinced, but went back to the delicate carpentry. Maybe they could tell she wasn't quite herself; maybe she was less skilled at misdirection than she thought she was. Maybe her mind would stop going round and round in circles if she stuck her head in the laundry tub — ew. That blood stain did_ not_ want to come out, and how much of it had Mugen been rolling around in, anyway?

She resigned herself to spending the rest of the afternoon watching water boil. _Mou._ Maybe she _was_ crazy, for agreeing to do the laundry.

* * *

"Have you given any thought to what you intend to do next?" Father Zuikou sipped appreciatively at his tea.

They were sitting with the older man, enjoying the warmth and light of the room. The remains of the evening meal — Fuu had been _very_ pleased to find it wasn't fish — had been cleared away, and she was pleasantly sleepy. She'd been absently mending Mugen's gi, but paused in her needlework when the old monk spoke.

Jin set down the temple's copy of _The Tales of Genji_, glancing over at Fuu before he answered. "Mugen and I have discussed it," he said cautiously, as she wrinkled her nose at him but failed to launch herself at his shins. "We were not able to come to a decision, however."

"Hm."

"Matsumae domain's out," Mugen said, rolling onto his side to face them. "Satsuma, too."

"I see. It's a pity. It would be easier to hide the young lady in places where the shogun's influence is not as strong." The monk turned the cup in his hands. "Tell me, the foreign man you met, where was he from?"

_Foreign — _Fuu abandoned all pretense to paying attention to anything other than the conversation, dropping the haori to her lap.

Mugen frowned. "Some place called Holland — you think we should go _there_?"

"Nagasaki." The book sat at Jin's knee, forgotten, as he regarded the monk intently. "The foreign ships are only allowed into Nagasaki; the foreigners are restricted to Deshima," he said thoughtfully.

"Yes." Father Zuikou paused, then looked directly at Fuu. "My dear, I know that your father has gone on to the afterlife, and you told me once that your mother had gone on ahead of him. Do you have any other family to help you?"

She shook her head. "Mugen and Jin are my family now."

"I see." The monk glanced at the two young men, who had gone very still. "I'm not familiar with this Holland, I must admit, but I would consider it as a last resort. As far as I know, the government keeps a very close eye on the ships the foreigners use to travel from our country to theirs, and from what you've told me, it does not sound as if — " he shrugged "— it sounds rather unpleasant, actually. The Christians might be able to help you go there, but from my understanding, they may be a different sort of Christian."

Mugen recovered first. "So, if not this Holland place, then where?"

"Different sort of Christians?" Jin asked, distractedly. She'd said family — "I was not aware there was more than one kind."

The monk eyed them shrewdly.

* * *

"No way in _hell_!"

"Mugen — "

"Do you know how _long_ I spent — that _fucking_ hellhole — "

"Mugen!"

* * *

"Hn."

"Don't give me that crap! And you, fish face, you better not even be thinking about it, because we're not taking her _there_. No way! That's the absolute shittiest idea I have ever heard, octopus head. Did you lose your mind when you lost your hair?"

"_Mugen_!"

_Thwack!_

"OW! Goddamnit, that hurt!"

* * *

"So. Now that's over, I must admit I hadn't thought of that as a possibility," Jin said, eyeing Mugen.

The Ryukyuan muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like 'asshole' and prodded the new lump on his skull with a finger, hissing quietly in pain.

"I thought it was a prison colony," Fuu said, frowning. "I don't know if I want to — maybe it's not such a good idea."

"They're not all prison islands," Mugen told her, leaving his aching head alone and leaning back on his hands. "One I grew up on was, yeah, but it was closer to Satsuma and they started shipping their criminals down there after the daimyo annexed Amami Oshima. Not like it was official, anyway, we just got lucky that they had too many criminals to deal with. Bunch of pricks. I wouldn't go anywhere near those Satsuma fuckers — you'd be better off staying here and taking your chances with the shogun." His face was stubborn.

"Mm." Father Zuikou collected his empty cup, and got to his feet. "Unless you plan to leave this evening, I believe I will say good night. A little sleep is sometimes the best way to solve a problem." He smiled, and slipped noiselessly out the partially opened shoji, the three behind him stirring themselves to take his advice.

* * *

"Oi." The voice was quiet behind her. "What're you doing out here?"

"Couldn't sleep." She turned her face away from the river towards him. His face was obscured, clouds across the moon casting shadows that masked him.

"Shouldn't come out here by yourself. What if something happened?" Mugen came to stand next to her, leaning over the edge of the railing.

She huffed at him softly. "Pretty sure the yakuza isn't going to bother me, considering you and Jin apparently beat all of them up last night. And they don't have anyone going around killing swordsmen since the last guy — even if they did, I'd be the one protecting you."

He snorted.

"So what're you doing out here?" She relaxed against the bridge, propping herself on her elbows.

"Woke up, you were gone." He turned around, slouching back against the rail, in order to see her face.

_What the — _

"You were _worried_? About me?" She squinted, trying to make out his face a bit better. "Are you feeling all right? I didn't think Father Zuikou hit you that hard — "

"Fuu." He seemed to be giving her a lot of exasperated looks, recently. "Government guys probably won't wait for you to come find us."

"Why haven't we seen any of them yet?" she asked. "I'd have thought they would have tried something by now if they really wanted to find me."

He shook his head. "I don't know," he said quietly. "Wish I did."

She shivered a little, not entirely due to the cooler air coming off the river.

"You cold? Come on." Mugen put his arm around her, drawing her in close and rubbing her shoulder as he steered her back toward the temple grounds. "Whole damn country's only warm enough in summer."

"Mm." _This_, she decided, was nice. He was tall enough that his arm easily draped over her shoulders, the muscles of his chest playing under her cheek as he breathed, heat from his body soothing her —

"Hey." He bumped her gently with his hip. "Don't fall asleep on me, now. I'm not carrying you back."

"Not sleepy," she told him, and yawned.

"Liar." She didn't have to look up; she could hear the grin in his voice. "If you're not going to tell the truth, at least make it believable."

Fuu stuck her tongue out at him, as he gave her hair a playful tug. "Jerk."

"Loser. You said I'm family now, so guess that means you should listen to me."

"Um, no?"

They walked along companionably for a moment before he said, "Did you mean that?"

"Mean what?" He even smelled good, she thought, like ocean water and wet sand —

"We're your family now."

She nodded.

"Mm."

"Unless you don't — ?"

"Never been anyone's family before, 's all." The arm that had dropped back over her shoulders squeezed her lightly. "Didn't say I mind."

"Good." She smiled. It was getting a little uncomfortable to walk along with his arm over her shoulder. The weight of the arm was welcome, but pulled her off balance just enough to make her conscious of the way she was moving; instinctively, she slipped her arm around his waist to balance herself, pressing her side against him.

She felt, rather than heard, him breathe in. "Fuu — " He stopped, and pulled her around so that she was facing him. She could feel the bones of his hip under her hand, her mind idly commenting on how remarkably _solid_ he was, how completely at variance with the taut lines and sinewy grace when she looked at him.

And then his hands were cupped at the base of her skull, drawing her in as he bent down and his mouth was —

She closed her eyes; the moon was too bright.

He tasted of the sesame tofu they'd had for the evening meal, his skin surprisingly tender, and, _oh_ — she was conscious of nothing more than the feel of his hair gripped in her hand, thick rebellious strands threaded through her fingers, and how he was sucking her lower lip, stroking his tongue softly along the edge. Keeping one hand at the back of her head, he ran his fingers down the side of her neck, down along the edge of her kimono, down to cup her breast through the suddenly too-thick material, leaving a trail of conflagration in their wake. She opened her mouth, greedily wanting _moremoremore_, and he obliged her by making a thick, strangled sound that made her want to wrap her skin around him; she arched into him, drawing her leg up to pull him closer — he rewarded her with a groan, and pushed her away gently.

_What_ — she was quivering with something she didn't know, wanting only to pull him in again and kiss him _back_ —

He put his hands (a part of her noticed with tremendous glee that his hands were _trembling_ and she had done that) on her shoulders, breathing heavily.

"What — " Her voice was scratchy and hoarse.

"Shouldn't have done that," he muttered to himself. Then: "You never did that before, did you?"

_Oh, gods. It _— she screwed her eyes shut; it had been amazing to her, but — she found that the thought that it had been awful for him, that she hadn't been any _good_ — she wanted to curl into a little ball and roll into the river where she could drown quietly and never think about this again. Erk. Maybe she could drown a couple of times, and why wasn't there an earthquake when you wanted one? Stupid ground, refusing to open up and swallow her whole.

Embarrassed (and dammit, there went that stupid _blushing_), she said, "Mm, I'm sorry — "

He bent and leaned his forehead against hers. "No, it wasn't that. It was — shit, I'm the one who's sorry, Fuu. I shouldn't — I'm _sorry_."

She blinked at him. "_Why_?" Her voice was so surprised that he smiled, despite himself.

"Thought you would've had your first kiss by now, I guess," he said, straightening up. "Come on. I want to get some sleep before baldy puts us to work."

She hurried to catch up, as he strode off. "Why — but — you're sorry? I mean, uh, not that I'd know, but — it was all right, wasn't it?"

He nodded, looking everywhere but at her.

"So, um — because it would be okay," she said, mentally smacking herself in the head. "I could probably use some practice?"

_Very nice, Fuu_, she told herself._ Smooth!_ _You have advanced to the level of master idiot. Extra points to you for trying to jump Mugen on the same day you were having very impure thoughts about Jin, you pervert._

He was looking at her now, though, and he looked as if he was trying not to smile. "No, I wouldn't say that," he said wryly. "I just shouldn't, that's all. Now, come on — unless you want Jin to wake up and figure out we're gone, since he was so happy last time."

She reluctantly nodded.

_Crap_.

* * *

Father Zuikou was sitting on the steps, waiting, by the time Mugen emerged in his usual clothes. "Good morning." He nodded toward the other two occupants of the courtyard; a tall man dressed in a fresh gray kimono, and a small woman in pink who was nattering to the man as he finished packing up. She stopped talking for a moment, as the tall man gave her a sideways glance and said something that made her laugh. "I see you've decided not to renounce your worldly goods."

The Ryukyuan sat down alongside him, biting his lip as if to stifle a grin. "Like you wouldn't have run screaming like a girl, if I said I wanted to stay here."

"I have been considering the Christians," the monk said blandly. "Apparently they have something called a vow of silence that could help you in your meditations."

Mugen chuckled.

"Hn. For the best, I suppose — I am too interested in the world whenever you bring your companions for a visit." The older man sighed theatrically. "It is difficult to strive for one's enlightenment in exciting times. Perhaps the dojo is still too much with me."

"They're exciting, all right."

"Ah." The monk nodded, the humor gone from his face. "Have you thought about it?"

Mugen scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Hard not to."

"I would expect so."

"It's a good idea to go to Nagasaki, I won't argue with you about that. But the Ryukyus — " He shook his head. "I don't ever want her to have to live like I did."

"But the other islands are different?"

"Yeah, the ones to the south. Satsuma-han aren't there, yet." Mugen began to casually dig in his ear. "We'll get her to the foreign guy, first. I don't know that we could get her down there."

"Good," the monk said, satisfied. "She is a most remarkable young woman."

"No kidding."

"She loves you, you know."

The hand froze, mid-ear.

"She loves him, as well."

The hand began moving again, this time more slowly. "Yeah. I knew _that_."

"He does not, however."

"Yeah. He's not that good with girls." Thinking, Mugen amended, "Or guys — he's just not good with people."

"Mm." Father Zuikou looked at him thoughtfully. "You will take good care of her," he said, not making it a question.

"I won't let anything happen to her," the Ryukyuan said. "I've done enough to her already."

"And who will protect her from you?" the monk asked.

Mugen shook his head. "It's her choice. Even if it's him, I'll have to live with that." He shrugged. "And if it's not either of us, then we'll deal with it. Not gonna like it, but it's up to her."

The monk nodded; that was acceptable. "Hn."

* * *

They had been gone several hours, by the time the monk went in from where he had been watching the sun set. He rinsed out the cup he'd used for his evening tea, and left it to dry in the kitchen where he knew the cook's helper would find it in the morning; then he went into the shrine to meditate, and wait.

He did not have to wait long — the shrine had been full dark for a short time, when he heard the soft voice.

"Where did they go, priest?"

"Where did who go?" he asked, calmly, moving his prayer beads through his hands. He'd had them restrung, after Ukon —

There was an amused chuckle, then: "I'd heard you had a sense of humor. Was that why they came back?"

"You confuse the pointing finger with the moon," he said, regretfully.

The chuckling stopped, as the monk felt a thin sharp pressure against his side. "The traitor has already gone on to the afterlife, and it's a matter of time before his daughter goes as well. Are you in such a hurry to be there to greet her?"

He smiled. "I'm surprised the government would send someone so young."

The sharp pressure blossomed, became a fire in his flesh, as the knife slid in slowly. How odd, he thought, that the body clung so to life; the flesh fought Buddha nature — his breathing hitched. Foolish. He should have known, from the dojo alone — he hadn't remembered pain being quite so _painful_; he would have laughed, but for the steel blade piercing his lung.

"I can make it stop," the voice soothed. "_Tell_ me."

_My dear, I am so sorry_ — "Matsumae," he gasped, before the knife slipped in like a soft good night, and he knew nothing more, as the string snapped and the beads scattered —

The dark figure pulled the blade out, as the monk's body fell to the floor, wiping the steel off carefully before putting it away. The shoji slid open, and closed again; the body would not be disturbed until morning. The first figure moved silently to join another shadow outside the temple wall.

"Well?"

The first figure nodded. "They're gone. About a day ahead of us, I'd think."

"Which way?"

"He told me Matsumae."

"How hard did you have to ask?"

"Not very hard. He was happy enough to lie to me — I'd assume they went south," the first figure said quietly.

"Yes. We'll have to check it out anyway — waste of time, I suppose, but can't be helped."

"Mm."

Shadows flickered, and were gone, their only marker a spreading pool of crimson.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I don't own _Samurai Champloo _or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Neither do I own the haiku of Matsuo Basho (translation by R.H. Blyth, this chapter).

A/N: My apologies for the lateness, guys — the flu is not 3Jane's friend.

* * *

_**Nenju**_

_IX. To the moon beholders_

* * *

It was easier to remember it in the detail he wanted, if he closed his eyes.

He wasn't much for kissing, normally; brothel girls just wouldn't do it. That was fine with him — if he wanted a woman's mouth, he had something different in mind than a kiss. When was the last time before this he'd kissed anyone? Not the girl in Osaka, she'd nailed him a solid one in the nuts when he'd tried, and he couldn't remember many since Kohza. _She_'d given him his first kiss, back on the island . . . Mugen put all thoughts of that treacherous bitch out of mind.

Fuu was no Kohza, though.

Little _idiot_ — she'd had no idea of the panic he'd felt. His mouth had gone dry when he'd woken to see that the space where she'd been lying was empty, and that neither he nor Jin had wakened when she'd gone — whether by the shogun's men plucking her out of the temple grounds or not. It was adrenaline that rolled him fluidly up, weapon in hand, and out toward town; he'd figured that if the bastards had come for her, they'd be heading in the direction of Edo.

He wouldn't have been able to say exactly why he hadn't woken the ronin. It was quicker not to, yes, but Jin slept as lightly as he did and woke with his mind as unclouded by sleep as if he'd been up for hours; it would have been a matter of "Oi, fish face," as he went down the steps, and there would have been a second sword in case there were more men than he could manage on his own. It was — well, he just _hadn't_.

Mugen hadn't been running long before he'd come to the bridge and seen her on it, looking down into the water like the answers to every question she'd ever had were flowing by underneath. He'd stepped onto the wood planks, deliberately letting his geta clatter noisily against them to warn her of his presence; she'd looked up at him like she'd known he was there, even without him speaking. He had, anyway, especially after what they'd overheard. He wanted to control the silence between them, make things almost like they had been, make her what she was before he failed her. He knew it wouldn't work, but pretending went a long way, sometimes almost far enough.

She'd said she couldn't sleep, so he'd scolded her as much as he'd had the heart to, which wasn't much. She looked so lost; more lost than he had ever seen her, so he'd seized on her shivering as a way to pull her close and comfort her.

And then Fuu had put her arm around his waist — the sudden pressure of hip and breast against his body had almost undone him, coming from her. She'd looked at him with such trust that he'd wanted to howl; not him, how could she trust _him_, it was _his_ fault that Satsuma fucker hurt her — and in the end, the part of him that wanted to show her how stupid it was to trust him found it easy to talk the part of him that wanted to touch her but knew it shouldn't into doing just that. With her hand on his hip, it had been even easier.

Her mouth had been soft and hot under his, and her skin in its smoothness made a mockery of silk, his fingers sliding downdown — he could feel the fluttering of her heart under his hand, poor bird, as the weight of her breast filled his palm with hunger. He moaned against her mouth, frustrated, as her fingers slipped into his hair and _tightened_ — and when she'd moved against him, her thigh sliding over his through the cotton of her kimono, he'd been scant moments away from taking her right there on the path, passersby be damned. It was her goddamned trust in him that pushed him away, in the end. Not Fuu, not like that — he told himself that it had been too long since he'd had a woman, that was all. He would have reacted the same way to any other woman who touched him, and it was staying at that stupid temple that was doing it to him; it was the idea that anyone would choose to give up physical solace that made him think about it continuously, nothing more.

He could almost even convince himself he hadn't said her name as he finished himself in the bathhouse.

* * *

They were quiet, each of them lost in their own thoughts, as they neared the town.

"You!"

_Aw, man — _

A very angry-looking brothel owner was standing in front of Jin, when Mugen looked back.

He groaned inwardly, pushing Fuu behind him, only partially registering her indignant squawk. _Fuck_. The man _had_ to be one of the first people they saw in Hamatatsu, didn't he? Just once, he'd like to go through a town without having to kill anything more dangerous than a bottle of sake. Garden variety idiots like this were _so_ boring.

"You're the samurai who helped the girl to escape," the man, apparently still holding a grudge, said furiously to Jin, who looked at him with polite interest. "Do you know how much money she cost me — and how many men you killed?" He'd hired more, by the looks of the men who were coming out into the street, drawn by the sound of the angry voice. Mugen counted six, seven — ah, a fair fight then; he let his sword drop back into its scabbard.

Fuu pushed at his back. "You aren't going to help him?" she demanded. "There's six of them!"

He gave her a curious look. She'd seen the ronin fight before, and still thought he needed help? Huh. "Pretty sure there's seven, and no," he told her. "He doesn't need it." He crossed his arms over his chest, settling in to wait, until the brothel owner spotted him.

"Him in the red, too," the man declared, pointing at him. "He was with him last time, too!" A couple of the men drew back from the group surrounding Jin, advancing on Mugen with their swords drawn.

The ronin said something to the angry man that Mugen didn't quite catch — probably spouting some crap about shogi, knowing him — as he bumped her back. "I want you to stay out of this," he told her. She glared at him, but moved away from the men, further behind him. Assured she was safe, he turned his attention to them and frowned. He only rated two? Clearly there was some confusion here.

"Oi, fish face," he called.

"Hn?" The other men were circling Jin, swords drawn —

"Didn't you learn your numbers in that stupid-ass dojo of yours?"

There was an indignant snort from the center of the larger group of thugs. "Of course."

"Then how come you get five and I get two?"

He heard a cough that sounded suspiciously like it had started life as a laugh. "You aren't counting the owner?"

"Hah. Six and two? More like five and a half and two."

"That seems high."

"Fine. Five and a _third_, then." The thugs were beginning to look at each other uneasily, as the brothel owner's face turned more apoplectic by the minute.

There was a pause. "Bundai taught you arithmetic as well?"

"Yeah. Easier than reading, turns out."

"Hn."

Fuu's annoyed voice broke into their conversation. "Mou, will you two hurry up? My feet are tired."

"Just saying," Mugen grumbled. _Women. _

"Perhaps you should ask them?" the ronin remarked.

Mugen eyed his pair of thugs, who looked discomfited; the people they went out to beat up were normally more concerned with "Not my arm! Not my arm!" than with inequities in thug delegation. "They don't look real bright," he conceded. On the other hand, he thought, there _wasn't_ as much room between buildings as he would have liked, Jin might be quicker — "Tell you what. When I get done with these two, we'll split whatever's left."

"Fine, but I'm not waiting for you," Jin said.

The brothel owner had reached his boiling point. "Will one of you idiots just _kill _them?" he screamed.

The braver of Mugen's two thugs stepped forward; from the corner of his eye he saw another draw his sword, advancing on Jin — "You want to help your friend?" the braver thug sneered. "You're gonna have to go through me, first."

The Ryukyuan shrugged. "Okay, but it's gonna hurt," he warned, reaching back.

Emboldened, the two men moved up, unsheathing katana —

_Stupid_, he thought, bringing the longsword up and out in a fast arc, slashing across their chests. _Not even smart enough to come at me far enough apart. _He shook his head as they collapsed, leaky bags of bodily fluids and flesh on the ground. He stepped between them, watching his footing, and caught a third coming from the larger group toward him, sliding the steel blade up and behind the man's rib cage where it caught. _Aw, dammit._ The man gurgled as Mugen yanked the sword free, stepping to the side to avoid the spray of arterial blood as the body fell.

The ronin was already wiping the blade of his katana, when he looked up. "Slow," Jin remarked to him.

Mugen growled. The brothel owner had vanished into the building behind them.

"Can we leave now, or do you two need to be manly some more?" Fuu gave them both The Look and continued past them down the street. The two men exchanged looks — what was _that_ all about? — and hurried to catch up.

* * *

"We're going to have to figure out what to do about money soon," she said, totting up the numbers for their dwindling stash. "We've been really good, but at this rate, we'll run out before Osaka."

"Knew I should have hung onto Rodriguez," Mugen grumbled. He stretched out on the tatami, enjoying the warmth of the little room; they'd decided to take lodgings in town, rather than to camp out, as easier to defend if the disgruntled brothel owner decided to hire a third group of thugs. That, and Fuu was becoming insistent on the matter of baths once again, which — why had he ever found her attractive? Somewhere around Matsumae, he must have forgotten how much maintenance she took —

His eyes dropped from the businesslike set of her shoulders down to rest on the delicate line of her ankle as it curved softly into her calf. _Oh_. Maybe not such a stretch, then. She really had great legs, he decided, interestingly long for such a small woman. His eyes traced upward, following the length of her thigh —

Jin cleared his throat, as Mugen jerked his glance upward to meet a pair of cold eyes being narrowed at him; he'd forgotten as well what a particularly _icy_ stare the ronin had. He glared back defiantly: _what_?

The ronin raised an eyebrow at him. _Don't do that._

Mugen crossed his arms. _Do what? And, kiss my ass._ _I don't see your name on her._ Lazily, he let his eyes rove over the contours of her chest.

The eyebrow dropped ominously, as that little vein in Jin's temple pulsed. _You won't be able to, after I finish with you._

_Oh, yeah? _

_Yeah._

Oblivious to the silent threats of death being exchanged, she shuffled the coins back into the pouch and handed it back to Jin, who tucked them into his kimono. "I'm going to look for a job in the morning," she said. "But right now, I really want a bath. Do either of you care if I go first?"

They shook their heads no.

She sighed. "I don't understand why I can't get either of you to shut up. It'll be nice to have a quiet bath," she told them, and left for the inn's bathhouse.

They waited until her footsteps had receded before pouncing.

Cursing, Mugen found his head being shoved into the closest wall; painful, but more annoying to find that with his head turned away, it was more difficult to jam his thumbs into the ronin's eyesockets. He lashed out with his foot and felt a satisfying thump as he made contact with a knee. The hand that was shoving him into the wall let go, grabbing instead for his ankle, hauling him up to let the back of his skull connect with the floor. "I _told_ you not to do that," Jin hissed in his ear.

"Oh, come on. Not like you don't do the same damn thing," Mugen groused, slashing up into the other man's hip. "I see you when you think she's not looking."

"I am _nothing_ like you," Jin snarled, rocking back and kicking him square in the rump. _Ow!_ Pale and wussy-looking as he was, the Ryukyuan decided as he got to his feet, the other man was solid as a rock.

Not that _that_ was going to spare him the ass-kicking of his life, however.

He caught the ronin around the head, contenting himself for the moment with twisting Jin's ear while he decided on something particularly evil. "You trying to tell me you never think about it? You never once thought about taking a peek at her while she's having her bath? I saw her, and you should," he taunted. "Even better than in your dreams — "

"You piece of _shit_," the other man hissed, as Mugen found out the hard way that someone caught in a headlock was at the perfect height to smack him in the kidneys. _Gaaah!_

"Hey, I forgot my soa— " Fuu slid back the shoji, as they both looked up guiltily. Her brow creased. "What are you doing?"

"Um, evening workout?" Mugen offered, rubbing his lower back as Jin straightened.

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "I don't even want to know, do I," she muttered. She took her soap and pointedly left the shoji open as she walked away. "Idiots."

Jin sighed and sat down, tucking his feet up neatly. "She's right, you know. There has to be a better way of doing this."

The Ryukyuan shrugged from where he'd dropped back down to the floor. "Wouldn't be as much fun, though," he mused.

"True."

They sat silently for a moment, watching a moth fluttering against the shade of the oil lamp. "It's about that time, isn't it?"

"Hn." The ronin nodded.

"What're you going to tell her?"

Jin closed his eyes. "The truth."

"Which is — ?"

"I cannot, as long as I'm responsible for Fuu."

Mugen made a rude noise. "Thought you said you were going to tell her the truth."

"That is the truth. I can't very well leave Fuu to you, can I?"

"You know, _you_'re supposed to be the smart one," Mugen told him. "I'd of known your glasses were where your brain was, I would've tried finding them."

There was an exasperated snort. "Thank you, I think. What would you have me tell Shino?"

"The right truth."

"Hn. Right truth," Jin said heavily. "There is no rightness to that truth."

"And in Japanese, for those of us who aren't fluent in dumbass?"

The ronin shot him an annoyed look. "I have nothing to offer Fuu, unless you consider death threats from my master's students an asset."

Mugen frowned. "There's still some left? I thought you killed them all."

"Five or six, I think. They left me alone for a while after Kariya, but one tracked me down a few months ago."

"Huh." Reluctantly, he let that go for another time, hating himself for the knowledge that he was about to open his mouth and — "Father Zuikou told me something you probably would be interested in." _Crap_.

"Mm?"

"Yeah." Gods, he thought, he was the biggest fool, to tell Jin something like this. The other man was his friend, or best enemy, or something like that, but this went way beyond that. Mugen sighed. "He said she loved you."

The ronin went very still, even more still than usual; Mugen realized the other man was holding his breath, as — "He said that to you?"

"Uh-huh." He watched the ronin's chest begin to move calmly once again, face carefully schooled.

"Hn."

"Course, he said she loves me too." The Ryukyuan rolled onto his back.

"I see."

"So, I'm going to have to kick your ass for her."

There was a brief glint of teeth, out of the corner of Mugen's eye. "You can try," Jin told him.

* * *

Life was terribly unfair, Hideo the brothel owner decided, as he regarded the stack of unwashed crockery in front of him. Business was down, due to the disturbance in front a few hours before — he still couldn't figure out how two men alone could decimate the ranks of his employees, and now their families were demanding that he do something about their loss of income — and he had to find still more men to watch the shop; he was going to have to start offering even _more_ money in wages, once the news of this got out.

His head twinged painfully, and he winced. If he had stayed on the family farm in Kansai, like his mother had told him —

There was a brief tap at the door. "My apologies, but I didn't know if you were open." There was the glimmer of gold ryu in the stranger's hand, and Hideo brightened. Of course, compensated courtship _was_ a growth industry, he told himself.

"Come in, kind sir!" he said cheerfully. "Did you have any particular girl in mind? Our rates are very reasonable — "

"Actually, I was hoping for some sake before I made up my mind," the strange man told him and smiled.

"Certainly. Sweet, or — "

"Sweet sake is fine." Hideo poured the drink with the ease of long practice, stopping only when the stranger gestured for him to stop. "I heard there was some fighting here before?"

The brothel owner sighed. "Yes, unfortunately. Nothing involving any of the girls, though, the customers were completely undisturbed," he added.

"Hm. What happened?"

Hideo shook his head. "A ronin — who'd helped a very troublesome girl escape a couple years earlier, nothing like our current girls, who are all most biddable and willing — came through town with another swordsman and a girl, who looked no better than she should, if you understand me."

"I see. Did the other man have an odd sword, not a katana, but straight, with an unusual hilt?"

Hideo frowned. "He did, yes."

"How interesting. I've heard of these two, before." Another ryu clinked onto the table. "I wonder, may I trouble you for more of that excellent sake?"

"It would be my pleasure."

"Do you know where they are now?"

His back to the stranger, Hideo replied, "No — " as hands fastened on both sides of his head, twisting. There was a loud snap, and the brothel owner slumped gracelessly in a heap to the floor; the stranger picked up his ryu and walked out.

"Well, what now?"

"It's them," the stranger said. "They can't be far."

"No," the voice agreed. "We might even be able to find them tonight."

"We just report in, then?"

"Yes. No contact of any sort whatsoever. You heard what they did to the Hand of God, didn't you?"

"Mm." The stranger agreed. "Come on, I'll buy you dinner somewhere."

The voice chuckled. "Your own money? I don't like ramen that much."

Grinning, the stranger walked off into the center of town.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I don't own _Samurai Champloo _or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Neither do I own the haiku of Matsuo Basho (translation by R.H. Blyth, this chapter).

A/N: I'm indulging in a tiny bit of fangirl Japanese in this chapter, as there just aren't equivalents in English. An enkiri dera is the three year sanctuary Shino took refuge in, back in episode # 11. Fundoshi are men's undergarments; think of sumo wrestlers' garb, and you won't be very far off.

Also, I love my readers and reviewers like holy mo. Thanks, guys, you keep me writing! And big thanks to neldluva, laurabryannan and el gallo de pelea, without whom this chapter would have gone in a different (and way sucky) direction.

* * *

_**Nenju**_

_X. The butterfly is perfuming_

* * *

She kicked him gently in the shoulder. "Idiot," she told him.

"Bitch." He didn't bother opening his eyes, but stayed leaning back against the step of the balcony.

He was like a cat, she thought, lying stretched out to take in as much of the sun's warmth as possible. It darkened his skin to the rich color of raw sugar, so different from Jin's or even hers; she held her hand out against his arm to admire the contrast, fingertips reaching the first line of the blue band tattooed on his wrist.

He opened one eye lazily at the movement, and asked, "What are you doing?"

"I was thinking about how your skin is darker than mine."

"Mmhm. Happens in the south." He closed his eyes again, to all appearances attempting to doze. She smiled even more broadly; he should know better than to think she'd fall for _that_.

"You don't talk about Ryukyu much," she observed.

"And you're antsy because Jin's gone. So what?"

"Oh, come on." She wriggled around so that her face was in the sun that was pooling on the tatami of the tiny room the three of them had rented. "Thinking about finding a job, mostly."

"You trying to tell me you're not?"

She brushed her hair out of her face. "Why would I even care that he was going to see her?"

"Because you're jealous."

_Maybe_. _Yes._ _I don't know._ "Of course I'm not jealous! She's — I mean, he obviously could do better, not that he's interested in her like that. And he's our friend, so we should care, because — you just changed the subject, didn't you?"

"Wasn't talking about it in the first place." His face stretched in a satisfying, bone-crackingly wide yawn.

"You know, you're not going to distract me by _not_ talking about that woman." She heard herself and cringed inwardly — it was _never_ good when she sounded flaky even to herself. Undoubtedly, he was going to tell her she was crazy, or again that she was jealous, or some combination of the two, which she wasn't, she was merely concerned —

And — he was _snoring_. She wrinkled her nose at him in disbelief.

_Ass_.

* * *

Fuu found work at the third teahouse she tried, with a little improvising.

"Hmm . . . from Edo, but you've worked all over the country, it seems. Why so many places?"

_I keep having to go to Nagasaki with these two men I sort of live with — but not like _that_ — while the shogun's men are after me. Eheh heh. Did I mention I have a recipe for this thing the Europeans eat called _castella_ that you might like?_ "Ah . . . boy trouble."

"_Oh_." The teahouse owner's wife looked at her with new interest, as Fuu winced inwardly. Well, at least she wasn't a scandalous whore, she consoled herself. Just a regular one. _Eep._

* * *

Waitressing was all right, though. She'd done it long enough that she could let her feet propel her about the teahouse, hands automatically seeking the right place on the tray to balance it, and be a thousand miles away. She was glad of the chance to be on her own — sort of — and think without the distraction of Mugen or Jin.

_Mugen_ — she let herself think about what it had been like, kissing him on the path back to the temple. It had been almost a week since then, and in that time he had given her no sign that he wanted to repeat the experience or even that it had ever happened.

It had been incredible and amazing and addictive and her mind seemed to stop being capable of thinking about it rationally, other than to tell her with great frequency _moremoremore,_ and _now, if not sooner_. She'd never understood before what made that act such a big deal, and she'd always submitted with good grace (well, she'd never rinsed her mouth out or washed her face afterwards in _front_ of him) when Toku had pecked her on the lips, waiting for him to lift his face away from hers. What had happened with Mugen had been different; a First Kiss, a tide full of fire and honey tipping slowly through her body. He'd thought it was her first kiss, and she seized on it gratefully. It was selfish, she thought, but she decided _that_ was the one she wanted to be her first kiss. Funny — she'd thought he would have been happier, she'd thought he'd enjoyed it as well — she thought she'd like to try it again.

And, surprisingly, in a way that made her want to curl up into a tight ball of burning-faced shame, she thought she'd like to try kissing _Jin_ as well.

_Eeee!_

Which was undoubtedly not anything the ronin would like to try, she told herself. Yes, there had been that moment in the forest outside Kasumi, when he'd told her that he didn't want the woman from the enkiri dera, and yes, she'd thought there had been . . . _something_, when he and Mugen had dragged themselves back from whatever they'd done in Motomachi. Hn. There had probably been as much something as there had been that night by the river before they'd reached Nagasaki, which _still_ confused her as to what the hell that had been.

Besides that, Jin was a little odd with _everyone_; it wasn't as if he was singling her out. He probably wasn't much for kissing anyway — she could count on Mugen's fingers the times she'd seen the ronin ever willingly touch anyone, and Mugen would still have a selection with which to pick his nose.

She liked that long upper lip of his, though. Most of the time his mouth was carefully schooled to stillness, but for a patient observer, it was one of the few things that ever gave away what was going on inside him. She'd noticed first how his lips compressed together slightly when Mugen was really getting on his nerves, but then she'd happened to be looking directly at him when something surprised him and his upper lip had quirked _upward_ for the briefest of seconds; almost as if he'd thought it was . . . funny. Since that time, she'd become a student of his face, avidly cataloguing each of his micro-expressions. It was his fault, really, she thought. If he'd allowed himself to show what he was thinking, she wouldn't have been as curious, and she probably wouldn't have thought twice about that perfectly controlled mouth and how that long upper lip curved gently down at the side —

A cranky voice cut rudely into her thoughts. "Hey. When am I going to get those dumplings?"

His fault, _entirely_.

Stupid ronin.

* * *

Mugen slouched through the marketplace with his hands in his pockets, looking for the main signboard. There was always the gambling hall — a good place for a man with quick reflexes to look for work — but since the incident outside the brothel, he might be better suited to start with something else that had a smaller chance of being affiliated with a business to which he and Jin had done that much damage.

The dusty market was crowded, noisy, and smelling of hot fat from a tempura stand somewhere. There were the usual women out doing their shopping, some with children underfoot, some not, and the elderly he'd come to expect. There were more men than he remembered there being the last time they'd come through here, though — both with and without daisho at their hip. It seemed, even since he'd left the ship in Matsumae, that there were a _lot_ more men that he was seeing. Never a good sign, in his opinion. _Especially_ that many samurai out on their own — it was like leaving knives lying around; sooner or later, someone was going to get cut.

They were touchy as hell, too. Just look at Jin, there were about eight million ways possible to offend him. Mugen thought he may have scratched only the first seventy-five or so, and climbing into bed with Fuu had certainly been one of them — the ronin had been _slightly _more offended when Mugen had written Jin's name on his fundoshi following their stop in Hiroshima, during a day they'd taken to wash their linen (although, as the Ryukyuan had pointed out, it hadn't been as if Jin had actually been wearing them at the time; not that that had seemed to make the ronin any less pissed off at him).

Samurai had too many unnecessary rules, much like their country, he decided. He still didn't get a lot of things about Japan; back when they were still looking for her father, Jin and Fuu had spent an afternoon trying to explain to him the shogun's relationship to the emperor, for one. Mugen still didn't _get_ that, but kept it to himself. Fuu's choking fit when he'd asked "So, if the shogun's so powerful, why doesn't he kick the bitch off the throne and grab it for himself?" had been singularly off-putting.

His mind registered the presence of a young woman standing in front of the signboard, and automatically he looked her over. _Hmm. Fuckable_, he decided, as his eyes skimmed over the faint curve of her ass.The pale orange kimono disguised any shapeliness she might have had, but there was something about the way she moved —

His eyes widened as the pretty woman turned away from the signboard to face him, his hand going up reflexively to cover the top of his head.

She looked up into his face and _grinned_. "Hey, lover boy."

For the first time since he'd set foot in Satsuma, just off the ship from the Ryukyus, he gaped like a slack-jawed yokel. He hadn't recognized her in those clothes; the last time he'd seen her, she had been wearing considerably less —

_Bitch tricked us with the naked woman,_ his mind supplied. _Twice. Oh yeah, and she kicked you in the nuts_._ But she looks _good.

"'Sup?" he greeted her. "You still not keeping your promises to people?"

Yatsuha laughed then, and took his arm. "I promised I'd do something really amazing with you," she told him, with a sultry look passing over her face so quickly he wasn't sure he'd seen it. "I just didn't promise I'd do it right away."

Oh — _hey_. The corners of his mouth spread outward in a slow, lascivious smile, as the implications of her last sentence sank in.

"Come on, I'll buy you a drink." She steered him through the crowds, toward a small stand where her money brought them a quiet table in the back, a bottle of sake, and two cups. Not standing on ceremony, she poured for herself as well as for him.

The sake was even good, Mugen decided; damn, she might well be the perfect woman, if it weren't for the violence. Not that he minded that as such, he just didn't like how wounds itched as they healed. "So." he said. "Married? Kid?"

She smiled around the edge of her cup at him. "Thought about it couple years back — had the guy all picked out — but it didn't happen."

"Oh, yeah?" He snorted, and gave her a friendly leer. "Guy must be dense."

"Mm." She raised her eyebrows as she drank. "He's got a pretty thick head, that's true."

"So you're still — ?"

"Not married," she told him. "Hankichi still has a little crush on me, I think, so if I'm ever desperate . . . although my parents keep inviting him to stay with us in Iga."

He frowned. "He was the one with the big mole? You'd have to be pretty desperate. No, I meant, are you still doing that thing?"

"Work? Sure." She shrugged. "Can't talk about it. You know."

"Hn." He nodded, as they fell quiet. She tapped a fingernail against the side of her cup; he poured himself a second, downing that as quickly as the first. Finally, he asked her casually, "So, did you have any idea as to when you were gonna keep that promise?"

She stopped, cup raised midway to her lips. "Probably not today." Yatsuha fought back the giggle that threatened to bubble up, as disappointment clouded his face. "Oh, come on. Aren't you in town here with a girl?"

Mugen gave her a sharp look, as he rubbed his hand through his hair. "How'd you know about that?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "If you're going to beat up a whorehouse — "she began.

"Oh." He grinned at her. "Almost forgot about that."

"I figured it had to be you. How many other men can be out there with crazy hair, a weird sword and cut off hakama, who likes to fight groups?" She leaned forward avidly. "Did you really start arguing with another guy about how to count the owner?"

He shrugged. "He was pissing me off. Guy sends two to fight me. _Two_," he repeated in disbelief. "Anyway, I'm not here with her like that."

"You sure? I heard you seemed awfully cozy together." She swirled the lees around the bottom of her cup, before looking up to see his mouth tighten. Interested, Yatsuha looked at him closely; she'd hit a nerve there, somehow.

"'M not," he told her shortly. "I'm here with her because I fucked up last time."

She shrugged. "It happens."

He snorted, fiddling with the bottle.

She took the sake from him and poured him another. He'd gone quiet, so she was going to have to get him talking again. _Hmm._ "So. If you're not cozy with the girl, and you're here with another guy . . . "

Mugen choked noisily. "Good thing you're a woman," he said, when he'd recovered. "That's not even — that's the — " He made a retching noise.

"You sure?" she teased.

He glared at her, before starting to laugh. "Bastard's as pretty as a girl," he said. "I can see how you'd think he _was_ one."

"So no?"

"No way in hell, no." He leaned forward, closer to where she sat with her elbows on the table. "I'd have thought you knew I wasn't into that. Maybe I could show you, you tell me _when_ you intend on keeping your promise." His eyes fixed on the neck of her kimono wolfishly.

She swallowed. _Um._

* * *

Hankichi would be waiting for her when she got back, Yatsuha knew.

She wasn't wrong.

He sprang forward as soon as the shoji slid open to admit her, grabbing her arm and yanking her inside the dim room. The room was cramped, musty, and more importantly, had an excellent view of the exits to the inn where the Ryukyuan, the ronin, and the Christian's daughter were staying.

"Um. Hey?" she tried.

It didn't work. He still looked utterly furious with her.

She sighed, and sat down to await the inevitable chewing out. It was a small price to pay, she thought; most of the time Hankichi was a dream to work with. He was quiet, efficient, his jokes weren't too awful (except for that one about the horse and the sake stand, which — just _wasn't_ good), and he'd worked with her long enough to be able to gauge her moods correctly. They held equal rank, and she cherished being able to talk to him as an equal, rather than being on the receiving end of orders.

However, that also meant he felt at liberty to yell at her for being stupid, and that he had a right to do it.

"What do you think you're doing?" he ground out. "You were supposed to follow him. Not go _drinking_ with him!"

_Aaargh_ — he was in full 'servant of the shogun' mode. And he'd worked himself up into a snit about it. _Shit._

"It's funny. When I stopped by your father's office to get my orders, there was this woman there, about your height, looked like you, standing right next to me when he said 'no contact with any of the three, under any circumstances', but that couldn't have been you, could it? Because when I got back from following the ronin out to the enkiri dera, I walked through the market, and there you were, at the sake stand _with_ the Ryukyuan!"

Yatsuha raised her eyebrows at Hankichi. He was starting to sound a little possessive, which she did _not_ want to have to deal with today. "He spotted me," she told him calmly, cutting him off.

He stopped, mouth open as he was about to launch into another rant. "He spotted you?" He sat down. "What happened?"

She shrugged. "He got too close with the crowd at the market. He knows what I look like, after all. So, we went for a drink just like we would if I weren't here to follow him; it would have been too suspicious otherwise."

His hand went up to rub at the back of his head as he thought. "He didn't say anything?"

"Did he ask what I was doing? Yeah. I told him I couldn't say. He didn't ask me anything else. We talked about other things — " _Like when I was going to jump his bones_, she added mentally. "Something's going on there with the girl, but I don't know what."

"Eh. Can't be helped, I suppose." He scratched his ear, all traces of his earlier temper gone. "Did you find out where they're going?"

She shook her head.

"Too bad." A thought struck him, and he gave her a wicked little smile. "However . . . "

"Mm?"

"Since you screwed up, _you_ get to be the one who tells your father." Hankichi's eyes twinkled at her cheerfully. "I know how much you love doing that."

"Oh, thanks. Remind me to volunteer you the next time they're looking for a practice dummy in training," she told him. "You find anything out?"

"Uh-uh." He shrugged. "He wasn't there very long, I can tell you that. He went in, stayed less than an hour, and came out alone. He did walk faster on the way back, if that tells you anything."

"Pfft." She threw her hands up. "Maybe if you chatted up the girl — "

He gave her a look. "And then tell your father? I don't think so. I don't want to end up like that priest in Motomachi, just because you think he'll be easier on you if he's pissed off at both of us."

"It was worth a shot?"

He snorted.

* * *

The sun was going down by the time Fuu finished up at the teahouse, the last light tinting the buildings with copper. The streets were relatively uncrowded, with people hurrying home or there already; she could hear families inside the houses, preparing the evening meal, talking — it was warm and comfortable and for a moment she envied them, until she let herself think about her makeshift family, _her_ boys, Mugen and Jin. Jin . . . .

Her step faltered briefly as she thought about the woman at the enkiri dera. _She_ wouldn't take Jin away from her on their way to Nagasaki; she hadn't last time, and this time Fuu knew better than to question him. But still — there was that small, cold knot in the pit of her stomach. The other woman was beautiful, she knew, and a beautiful woman was a powerful woman. If the other woman was powerful enough to take him away, she didn't know.

The shoji screen was open, when she reached the room. She looked in cautiously, then with relief. Jin sat, meditating, facing the balcony; his eyes opened, when he heard her step hesitantly on the creaking wood.

"Hey," she greeted him, holding up the cloth parcel she carried. "Are you hungry?"

He nodded, and she started setting out the food."Thank you," he told her as he took a bowl from her.

"Mm, you're welcome. I wanted soba tonight, but they were out," she confessed. "Mugen's not back yet?"

He shook his head, as he ate neatly. "I haven't seen him since this morning," he told her. "You found something?"

She made a noncommittal noise, and wrinkled her nose. "Teahouse. Again," she told him.

Jin smiled faintly. "Hn."

"There's not much else out there, not really." She looked at him over the edge of her bowl. "Um, how did — " she began, aware of the fluttering in her stomach. "Was she still there?"

"She's still there, yes." He examined one of the azuki beans in his red rice with sudden great interest.

"Oh." Fuu hid her smile. "She didn't want — ?"

"No." He shook his head decisively, and she resisted the urge to do a little dance.

_Yes!_

Dinner tasted remarkably fine, after that.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I don't own _Samurai Champloo _or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Neither do I own the haiku of Matsuo Basho (translation by R.H. Blyth, this chapter).

A/N: All right. I've had a couple of reviewers who've expressed interest in the romance between Mugen and Fuu, and who've been, ah, frustrated that there hasn't been sex 'right here and now, oh god, take me on Father Zuikou's kitchen table!' And I get that; lemons are pretty, what with the dimples. However, as in real life, sometimes sex is more interesting when there's more to a relationship than a 20 changing hands, yes? So relax.

Also, this chapter touches on a little political and religious theory, which is central to the story; it's not a comment on political or religious climate, nor do I intend it to be.

* * *

_**Nenju**_

_X. Its wings in the scent_

* * *

Not for the first time, Mugen cursed Jin's inability to hold sake.

If the ronin was even halfway normal, he'd have been able to take him out drinking, get some liquor in him, and he'd be spilling his secrets faster than a sack of sugar that rats had been at; however, he'd been stuck with Jin. How long had the other man even stayed awake, the last time they'd drunk together? Two cups? Three? Goddamned lightweight.

Not for the first time, Mugen wondered how he had offended the gods _this_ much.

There was no help for it. He was going to have to _ask_. Shit.

He eyed the ronin curiously. "So what happened when you went out there?"

Jin paused in sharpening the blade and gave him a look that indicated there was no way possible that the Ryukyuan was going to get him to tell, not _ever_.

"Come _on_. Otherwise I'm going to have to set Fuu on you, which will be about a hundred times worse than telling me. I'm barely keeping her off you as it is," Mugen told him.

The ronin raised an enquiring eyebrow.

"Not like that!" _Asshole. _Mugen crossed his arms and gave him a dirty look. "Whatever. Too bad you don't want to talk, though, because a couple interesting things happened while you were gone." He settled himself comfortably against the wall. He leaned back casually, keeping the ronin in his direct line of sight; Jin would have to turn his head, or at the very least, look to the side if he wanted to see the Ryukyuan, and Mugen would win. That would even the score from breakfast, when the ronin had nobbled the last of the miso —

"Do you mean the man who followed me to the enkiri dera?" Jin asked calmly, sighting down the edge of the blade as he judged its straightness.

The Ryukyuan frowned. "No, but you didn't tell me about him."

"Hn." The ronin nodded. "A man followed me to the enkiri dera."

One of the nice things about Japan, Mugen thought, was that there was always a handy forest; he'd be able to hide the body. Easily. "Have you always been this much of a pain in the ass?"

Jin wiped the katana with the soft cloth he carried in his kimono. "It depends on who you'd ask," he said thoughtfully.

Mugen glared. "So. Tall? Short? Fat? Thin?" he asked. "Samurai? Kabuki dude?"

_Goddamnit_, the bastard looked like he was trying not to smile — "No," Jin told him. "Just a man, in green."

_That was it? _"Pfft. You're pathetic."

"Mm." The ronin ignored him. "He was remarkably unremarkable."

"Is this another one of those 'you must think like a fish' things?" Mugen asked suspiciously. "Because I really hate those."

"No." Jin sighed. "No one would have looked twice at him. I saw him as I was walking out of town, and once there were fewer people on the road, it was difficult for him to follow me without giving himself away. He did make a good effort, " he conceded.

"He followed you back here?"

Jin nodded. "Almost up the steps."

Mugen frowned. "Then they know where we are," he said. "We're going to have to get her out of here sooner than I thought."

"Yes." At last, Jin sheathed the blade and laid it aside reverently. "She doesn't really believe us," he observed.

"Yeah." The Ryukyuan scrubbed his hand through his already shaggy hair; it was getting long again, he thought to himself idly. He'd have to cut it, soon, unless he could talk Fuu into doing it for him. "There really wasn't anything about the guy?"

The faintest smile touched the ronin's face, and was gone. "He did have a large mole on his face," Jin said, and tapped his cheekbone. "Even then, he'd blend into a crowd."

Mugen's forehead wrinkled in thought. For some reason, a man with a large mole on his face was famil — oh, _fuck_. _Fuckity, fuck, fuck. _"His name's . . . " He racked his brain. _What _had she said? "Hankichi, I think."

Startled, the ronin looked up, his complete attention on Mugen. "I think you had better tell me what these interesting things are."

The Ryukyuan made a face. "Do you remember that pond outside Osaka?"

"The one with the counterfeit koban?"

"Yeah. And we went into town and ditched Fuu — "

"Hn." Jin nodded impatiently.

"I saw the pretty whore yesterday, when I went to find the sign board."

Jin considered this a moment, then: "Shit."

"Yeah," Mugen agreed.

"Did she see you?"

"She bought me sake."

Jin's eyebrows twitched. "I'll assume she saw you, then," he said dryly. "You asked her what she was doing here, I hope?"

"She said she couldn't talk about it, so . . . " Mugen shrugged. "Bet you a ryu I know why she's here. She even asked about Fuu."

The ronin sat, thinking hard. Finally, he said, "We can't do anything about it."

Mugen gave him a scornful look. "We could take them. Easy. I'm pretty sure she's the tough one, out of the two of them."

"Killing them would draw attention that we don't need," the other man pointed out. "Now, we know we're being followed by at least two, and we know who they are. We also have another advantage over them."

"And what's that?"

Jin smiled faintly. "We can control a large part of the information that goes to the shogunate."

"How are we going to — oh. Through me."

"Through you."

The Ryukyuan pushed off the wall to lie on his back. "I still don't get why they don't just grab her when she's not with us."

"They don't want to run the risk of creating a martyr for the Christians. If they made a move publicly, especially in a town, too many people would see. They'd never be able to keep it from getting out." Jin shook his head. "They might decide to kill us between towns — it wouldn't be noticed if three travelers simply disappeared — but I think that is unlikely."

"Why not?"

"If we are allowed to continue, there is the possibility that we will make contact with some of the underground Christians," Jin said. "We'd lead the shogunate right to them."

"And then — "

"Yes." The ronin looked over at him. "We led them to Fuu's father last time, so we know that they see that as one of their options. I think it's likely, if only for the reason that it's been years since the end of the Shimabara Rebellion and they're still finding the Christians. They need to do something soon, or risk the Christians becoming so entrenched that they'll never get rid of all of them."

Mugen folded his hands behind his head. "I still don't see why anyone cares," he said. "I don't give two shits about ringing bells or your beads — doesn't bother me none."

"Mm." Jin rubbed a gentle thumb over the nenju of turquoise beads at his wrist. "Mariya-dono once told me that there was no need for the martial arts to be taught in a land at peace. I don't know as much as I would like about the Christians, but they do seem to think differently — in a land at peace, is it a danger to do that?"

"Land at peace, my ass." Mugen rubbed at the scar on his stomach.

The ronin's eyebrows twitched in amusement. "You're the one having sake with the shogun's men. What do you know?"

Grinning, Mugen wadded up the sword-polishing cloth, and flung it at the other man's head. "Even so, I don't like Fuu being out there without us."

"Yes." Jin nodded. "She's right, though. We're going to need more money than we have."

The Ryukyuan's grin only widened, as he said, "That was the other thing I wanted to talk to you about."

"Hn?"

"What would you say if I told you I had an idea about where we might be able to get sixty thousand ryu?"

Mugen inwardly exulted, as Jin's face froze in surprise.

_I win!_

* * *

Neither one of them had been willing to let the other be the one to fetch Fuu after she'd finished work for the day, so they went together to the teahouse.

"How sure are you of this?" Jin asked.

Mugen scratched his ear. "Pretty sure. He would've had to have help getting it wherever he put it, but it would have to be stored somewhere. For one, it's too big to carry everywhere, and then you gotta figure that someone's trying to figure out what happened to all their money."

"True." The ronin folded his hands into his sleeves. "How do you suggest we go about finding it?"

"He'd have it stashed somewhere he could get to easy, but it would have to be out of the way enough that it wouldn't be found by the first idiot out. Probably it would be somewhere you could only reach by water."

Jin digested this for a moment, then asked, "Why not in the water?"

Mugen shook his head. "Tide'd bury it. You'd never find it again, and it would be too much to bring it up, especially if you needed it in a hurry."

"I see."

"There were a lot of cliffs around there, weren't there?"

Jin gave him a look. "There were."

Mugen frowned. "One thing's for sure."

"What?"

"We're going to need to find a boat."

* * *

"Yo," Mugen called out as they entered the quiet teahouse, spotting the top of her head over the screen dividing the kitchen from the serving area.

"Be right out!"

He sprawled out on a bench to wait, as Jin watched. "What?" he asked the ronin.

"I was wondering if you ever sat up straight in your life."

"Fuck you."

"You're not my type."

"Did you just make a joke?"

"No." The clatter of cups being stacked and put away came to them."We'll have to tell her," Jin said thoughtfully.

Mugen shrugged. "She'll find out eventually, won't she?"

"Mm."

Scrubbing her hands together, Fuu emerged from the kitchen and smiled as she saw them. "Hey. What are you two doing here?"

"Out for a walk," Mugen told her breezily. "You done?"

"Yeah — " They turned to look as footsteps sounded from the other room, Jin's hand going to the hilt of his katana.

The teahouse owner's wife pattered out from the kitchen, face bright and inquisitive, as the men relaxed. "Fuu! I was just coming to tell you to be careful walking home this evening. The dango seller was telling me this afternoon that two very rough men started a fight at the brothel a few days ago." She lowered her voice and leaned in close to the younger woman. "She said they killed _twenty_ men."

"Oh, um, really?" Fuu glanced up at the men. Jin looked back at her calmly, as Mugen screwed a finger into his ear with a very bored expression. "I should be all right, I think."

The other woman looked at them coquettishly. "So, Fuu, which one of these handsome fellows is your young man?"

Mugen's hand froze, as somehow, Jin went even more still.

"Heh." Fuu blushed furiously. "They're — it's — uh, that's Mugen in the red, and Jin in the gray."

"Oh." The woman blinked. Then: "_Oh_!" Her eyes widened appreciatively.

"But it's — "

Jin coughed gently. "If you're ready, Fuu-chan — ?"

Fuu nodded, face aflame with embarrassment, as Mugen stifled a grin. She'd never let him hear the end of it, if —

(He really, _really_ wanted to, though.)

He fixed the older woman with a predatory look, and slipped his arm around Fuu's waist possessively. "We'd like to get her home," he purred. "Sort of . . . need her there."

The other woman's eyebrows rose to the middle of her forehead, as Fuu emitted a tiny, high-pitched squeak; the squeak stopped, as he casually let his hand slip to her ass and squeeze the firm flesh there. His mind noted dispassionately that Fuu was now making a nearly imperceptible hissing noise, like water coming to a boil.

And that tiny click he'd heard was the sound of Jin's katana slipping past the guard of the scabbard. _Hm_.

Hesitantly, Jin said, "I'm afraid — ah — Fuu will not be back."

"_Oh_."

Fuu stared at him, then relaxed. "We're _traveling_," she said firmly.

"Hn," he agreed.

"Well, then," the owner's wife said faintly. "I think — you've been paid, Fuu, so I wish you luck on your journey."

Fuu gave her a strained smile. "Thank you."

Arm still around her waist, Mugen steered her out of the teahouse, Jin following closely behind.

The teahouse owner's wife stood for a moment, watching after them, then sighed nostalgically and went back into the kitchen.

* * *

It had been worth it, but —

_Thwap!_

"OW!"

"_Pervert_!"

"Don't hit a man there, bitch!"

_Thunk!_

"AAAAAGH! Goddamnit, fish face! What the fuck?"

"He has a point, Fuu-chan. Try to hit him in the head instead."

"No! Don't hit him, anywhere!"

"Like this?"

_Thwap!_

"OW!"

"Hn. Much better. But try to get your weight behind it, next time."

"You son of a bitch — ! Why are you telling her that? And what do you mean, _next_ time?"

Somehow, things always went back to normal.

* * *

After they'd finished the evening meal (Mugen still moved a little gingerly as he got up from the table, but he was shaking it off better than he'd expected), they walked back to the little room.

"So. Leaving, huh?" she asked companionably.

Mugen looked down at her face. She seemed all right with it — he casually dropped his arm down to block her access to his midsection, just in case. Troublemaking ronin, showing her how to hit people properly — maybe if he waited until the other man was asleep tonight; there was that little trick he'd learned back in Ryukyu of waiting until the other person wasn't looking, then licking his finger and sticking it in their ear. _Hm_. He chuckled to himself.

"Yeah," he said. "We've been spotted."

She sighed. "I was just getting used to regular baths again."

The corner of Jin's mouth quirked up briefly. "We aren't going far," he said.

She crinkled her nose, as she looked at them dubiously.

"Toyohashi," Mugen supplied.

Ooh — she was giving them The Look. "Boats."

Mugen rubbed the back of his head. "Yeah. What about it?"

"But only across to Ise," Jin told her.

"Why do I get the feeling you two are planning something?" she groused as they reached the inn and climbed the steps. "Remember? Making decisions, and how all of us do that, not just you?"

Mugen smiled to himself. He remembered; her eyes had been bright, her face slightly pink, and that ritzy kimono had been slipping a little open, though not nearly enough. _Mm!_

The ronin gave him a questioning look, as he fell silent, lost in thought. "Yes," Jin said, lighting the lantern. "Do you remember that pond outside Osaka . . . ."


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I don't own _Samurai Champloo _or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Neither do I own the haiku of Matsuo Basho (translation by R.H. Blyth, this chapter).

* * *

_**Nenju**_

_XII. Of the orchid_

* * *

That night, Jin meditated on why women were so _difficult_.

* * *

She was still beautiful, of course; it hadn't been that long. But he was disconcerted to realize that the reality and his memory did not quite match up. Her nose was slightly longer than he remembered, and surely her eyes had been more —

"You've changed," she told him. The corners of her eyes crinkled as she smiled at him. "You look well. But you aren't wearing — ?" She tapped a finger just under her eye.

"No. I lost them," he told her. "The enkiri dera seems to suit you."

She gestured for him to sit; he dropped gracefully to the tatami, directly facing her. "It was a little difficult at first to get used to, but now — " She gave him a wry look. "It's almost time for me to decide."

"Mm," he agreed, not committing himself one way or the other. They fell uncomfortably quiet.

Shino fidgeted a little, and bit her lip. "What have you been doing?" she asked finally. "Did you ever get to where you were going?"

"Nagasaki? Yes," he told her.

"I see." She folded her hands in her lap; he saw that her pale, slender hands of memory had become rough from work. They were no less beautiful, somehow. "Did you stay there, after that?"

"No. I went east." He'd been hired as part of an escort for a wealthy daimyo's daughter, after one of the lord's household retainers had seen him persuade a few unruly samurai to leave a teahouse, feet first. The girl had been traveling on her way to be married — he remembered mostly that the girl had been about Fuu's age, but had seemed years younger; he smiled faintly at the idea of Fuu allowing herself to be _sent_ somewhere, like a parcel.

Like Shino; but that was an unworthy thought, and he wiped it from his mind, for the most part. She was speaking again, so he paid attention.

"There were another man, and a girl, wasn't there?" she asked. "What happened to them?"

"We separated for a while, but we are traveling together again. They are well."

"That's good."

Jin nodded. "It was . . . necessary," he said hesitantly. "I have an obligation to her that I need to fulfill, but your time here — "

She blinked. "You — oh. _Oh_. I see."

" — it would be improper of me to — "

"Jin, have you been waiting all this time?"

He fell silent, thinking on how he'd told Fuu he had no use for a red umbrella, and how that now fell particularly flat when it turned out he hadn't had one to refuse. He wondered if he had looked more foolish the time he'd tripped (over his own feet, his mind supplied) in front of Mugen and Fuu at that pond outside Osaka; he rather thought not.

For the first time in his life, he could have cheerfully strangled his adopted father; he could almost hear Mariya-dono laughing. See too well, his _ass_.

Shino moved to sit alongside him. She picked up his hand and gave it what was meant to be a comforting squeeze.

"I'm not sure that I will leave here," she told him. "I . . . think of this as home, now. I'm _useful,_ here."

_Ah._ That, he understood very well. "Are you happy?" he asked her, even though he knew the answer.

"Yes," she said immediately.

"Then I am glad." He stood to go, and she rose with him.

"Once, I would have been happy that you were willing to wait," she said. "Now — " she made a small gesture with her hands. "You will always be my eel-stand friend."

"And you." He bent slightly, as she kissed him affectionately on the cheek.

She walked with him as far as the temple's small pier, where the boat he'd used to pole himself across the river was tied. "Will you be all right?" Shino asked. "I know you have your companions, but still — "

Jin gave her a smile that, though small, was still warm. "I will be fine," he told her, as he stepped into the boat and cast off.

He looked back over his shoulder at her once, as the boat moved smoothly over the water; she held out her hand to him again, this time in farewell.

* * *

The man in green who'd followed him out to the enkiri dera slipped in behind him unobtrusively on the way back, walking behind him casually, almost at the limit of sight. The man was a welcome distraction; if it had only been on the way to the temple, Jin would have had an easier time dismissing the man's presence as coincidence, but there and back — ? It was as obvious as the mole on the man's face.

It wouldn't do to kill the man following him, though, he thought. Being able to see what the shogun's men were doing could be of great value in the days ahead.

As if lost in thought, Jin slowed his pace enough that the man in green drew sufficiently close for him to get a good look, the next time there was the excuse of a bird or another animal for him to turn his head. It was a shame, really, that his glasses were somewhere in the Nagasaki harbor — he hadn't realized how practical they really were until he'd lost them; they'd been an excellent means for him to see what was behind him, if he let them drop slightly down his nose and tilted his head just right. He'd been able to spot the other man even without them, yes, but it would have been easier.

As they reached the busy market, Jin's opinion of the man in green rose a little. It was nearly impossible to follow someone into the countryside and back without being spotted — and the man in green had been handicapped there by circumstance — but in the middle of a crowded town, the man just _melted_ into the background.

As he neared the inn where they were staying, he considered trying to shake the man off but gave that idea up almost immediately. He'd followed Jin out to the enkiri dera from the town, which made it not unreasonable that he knew the ronin's starting point.

_Hn._ Very troublesome.

* * *

Fuu was there before Mugen, that evening, as the sun was setting. He'd attempted to meditate (and why he couldn't seem to manage it, he didn't know — his mind simply _refused_ to quiet, chasing instead after stray thoughts like her pet squirrel) and failed miserably, so it was a relief to stop trying. She'd brought red rice with her, and he smiled to himself; it had been years since he'd had it last at the dojo. He remembered Yukimaru telling him something about how it symbolized prosperity, or long life, or happiness — not accurate, then, because Yuki hadhad none of those things.

She was subdued as they ate, only asking a couple of questions about Shino and whether she was remaining at the enkiri dera. He'd expected more, but the tiredness that had been in her face before they'd reached Motomachi was back, more than a teahouse could excuse. Her mood was lighter when he told her Shino was staying, but not as much as he would have liked.

He finished his meal quietly, and took both their bowls for a quick scrubbing when she was done. Mugen still had not returned by the time he tidied everything away, and she was leaning against the outer wall, looking up at the moon. He sat down alongside her, and had almost opened his mouth — the Ryukyuan would be laughing himself sick, if he knew Jin was going to ask her why she wasn't as talkative these past few days — when she spoke.

She smiled. "Tell me a story," she invited.

"A story?" This was very _odd_, he thought —

"I was thinking. I've known you for years, but I still don't know that much about you."

He blinked. "I am familiar with the _Tales of Genji_ — ?" he offered, slowly.

She turned her head from the moon and gave him the same look that she periodically gave Mugen, the have-you-been-into-the-mushrooms-again look. "About _you_," she said.

" — ah." Jin frowned at the moon, wishing that Shishou had seen fit to give them fewer lessons with the bo and more, say, on how to translate what women were saying when they spoke; 'tell me a story' obviously meant 'tell me anything that _isn't_ a story'. Though . . . Yuki had complained Jin never spoke about himself, either, so maybe it wasn't that.

"I know a little about the dojo, and I know you like foreign food, and that I should never let Mugen take you out for sake, and that your master's students — " she shrugged. "I know you can swim?"

"What would you like to know?" he asked, regretting this already; he was powerless to resist those pleading eyes, though there was no way he'd ever let her know_ that_. Ever.

Those eyes widened. "Anything?"

"Hn."

"Oh. Um — " Fuu paused, telling him she hadn't expected he would agree; for some reason, he felt a pang. She thought of him that way, and yet — Mugen couldn't possibly have been right about what Father Zuikou had told him. "What about your family? Where did you come from?"

His lips curved up, faintly. _That _was it? "I was born in Kai."

"Really? That's — that isn't that far from here," she said, sounding surprised. "We could — if you — "

Jin shook his head. "I haven't been there for almost twenty years," he said. "There isn't anything for me there."

"You don't have anyone, then?"

"I thought we were your family."

This time, the look she gave him was exasperated but affectionate. "You're _my_ family. That doesn't mean that you don't have anyone. How would I know?" She pushed off from the wall and rolled onto her stomach in a very undignified manner, propping her chin on her hands so she could look at him. _Um_. She probably hadn't meant for her kimono to bunch a little at her waist, and it was highly doubtful the way the edge of the cotton revealed the long lines of her calves was deliberate — they curved into that little dip behind her knees, and wouldn't his thumb fit nicely there, he thought.

Jin shifted uncomfortably. That idiot wasn't coming back this evening, was he? _Gaaah. _Mentally, he smacked himself in the head. Perhaps the best chaperone was not a man whose reaction on being presented with found koban was to sprint to the closest whorehouse. (Although, he admitted to himself, it had been — yeah.)

Any road, this was Fuu. _Fuu_, he told himself sternly._ Terrible danger? Shogunate? Was any of this sounding familiar? _He cursed that tiny part of himself that really hadn't been paying attention when he and Mugen had first met up to compare what they'd heard, and was more concerned with those pretty, pretty eyes. _Dammit._

"Jin?" She reached out and _poked_ him in the thigh. "Did you fall asleep with your eyes open?"

His eyebrows twitched. "Hm."

"Jin." She poked him again, digging in with her sharp little fingernails, this time a little higher.

He blinked. That . . . was not helping.

There was a mischievous little smile on her face, as she reached out and —

He twisted a little and poked her in her side. _Oo_, the tiny, non-attention paying part of him said. _Soft! Do it again_. _More towards the hip, this time. Mm!_

Hurriedly, he squashed the tiny voice.

"_Hey_!"

Jin sat there serenely. "Hn?"he said, and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from chuckling out loud.

Her eyes narrowed. "Oh ho ho, you are going to die — " She gathered herself to pounce, and —

"Oi! Is that food?"

She twisted up into a sitting position, tucking her legs modestly under her as Jin watched; Mugen thumped up the steps, immediately focused on the still-warm red rice, as Fuu fussed over the Ryukyuan.

_Shit._

He watched her out of the corner of his eye for the rest of the evening.

* * *

It was remarkable, how often the other man could surprise him.

It wasn't impossible that the plan would work; get to Toyohashi, obtain a small boat (Mugen had been very vague on the how of obtaining a boat, other than to tell them, "Don't worry about it," and Jin decided he probably _didn't_ want to know), find the ryu, carry away as much as they could, and use that to get to Nagasaki/bribe their way onto a ship/set up a life for Fuu somewhere that would likely be the Ryukyus, unless Mugen had his way, in which case it would be . . . anywhere that wasn't the Ryukyus.

True, there were a hundred ways the plan could go wrong (his mind helpfully pictured a capsizing boat, Fuu being abducted by pirates, and food poisoning), but the possible reward at the end made it worthwhile.

Fuu had been surprisingly agreeable to the plan — her only question while Mugen was telling her had been "_How_ many thousand ryu?" — even though they'd come up with it without discussing it with her. Her questions at the end had been practical, and she sounded as if she approved, he thought. She'd also brought up something, though, that neither one of them had thought of — if Mukuro was that easy to secondguess, wouldn't one of his gang have already found the ryu? And what about Kohza?

Mugen had begun shaking his head even before Fuu had finished speaking. He pointed out that none of Mukuro's pirates were intelligent enough to reason out where the money had been hidden — his exact words were "couldn't run a whorehouse between a sake bar and a gambling hall", as Jin recalled — and Kohza wouldn't have been able to salvage the ryu herself.

The only problem, then, was how to distract the man in green, and his pretty comrade. Between this town and Toyohashi, they could come up with something, he believed.

* * *

And sometimes, something came up on its own.

* * *

"You managed to lose every other one you had between Edo and Nagasaki," Mugen grumbled. "How come you're keeping this one?"

Jin adjusted the brim of his kasa to shade his eyes. "I like this one."

"You still look like you're wearing a basket. Pfft — oh yeah, real good disguise. No one will _ever_ be suspicious of that. 'Ha ha! You can't see my forehead! You'll never know who I am!'"

"They kicked you out of Ryukyu, didn't they?"

"Prick."

"Mou," Fuu said irritably, from behind Mugen. "We haven't even left town, and you're arguing already?"

"I'm just sayin' — that is one stupid-ass hat. How does it not make that weird line in your hair?"

"That — actually, that's a good question. Hey, Jin. Why _doesn't_ it mash down your hair?"

"Ah — "

"Takeda Jin, of the Mujushin Kenjutsu dojo?"

Mugen and Fuu stopped and turned around. Jin paused, but kept his eyes facing away from the rough voice that had come from behind him. "I am Jin," he answered.

"You murdered Master Mariya."

Distantly, Jin noted Mugen pulling Fuu away, over to the wall of a neighboring building. _Good_, he thought, before turning around. He set down his pack and took off his kasa, slowly and deliberately, setting it on top of his belongings. "He is dead by my hand," he told the man dispassionately. "I doubt you understand the difference."

The man stiffened. He looked familiar —

"You're here for revenge?"

"I've been looking for you for a long time," the man said. "Since Ogura returned. Since before Hojo set out to find you. He must have found you, because he never came back."

Jin nodded. "He found me in the mountains between Kyoto and Osaka. Noshiro, wasn't it? I've forgotten your name."

"It's been a long time since we sparred," the man said, fluidly drawing his katana. "I think you'll find I've improved a great deal."

Jin snorted derisively. "You could hardly have become any worse. It _has_ been over ten years."

The man's eyes narrowed angrily. He sprang forward —

— as Jin _flickered_ to his side, blade describing a perfect silver arc through the air —

The man's hand went up automatically to his throat, where scarlet streamed through his fingers. He looked down at his palm — almost the same red as the rice they'd eaten the night before, Jin's mind informed him — and then over to Mugen and Fuu. "He'll betray you, too," Noshiro told them almost conversationally, before toppling over.

Mugen kept his grip on Fuu's wrist, grimly watching the man as he died. He looked up and gave the ronin a small nod.

Jin was less concerned with that, however, and more concerned as he looked over at Fuu. Her eyes were wide; she looked back at him with — what was that? It wasn't fear, exactly, but it wasn't the same warmth her eyes had held when she'd looked at him the night before —

Coldly, he wiped the blood off the katana before sheathing it. _Damnit._

"Come on," he heard Mugen tell her, as he bent to pick up his pack.

He didn't spare a look for the dead man, as he stepped over the body to follow his companions; Noshiro had made enough difficulties for him already.

* * *

A/N: Eeee, an OC. Except, not really; as we know, Jin excelled at the dojo even as a little boy, as we see in the Evanescent Encounter story arc, when we see a group of little boys walking away from him. In the 3Jane-verse, Noshiro is the name of one of those little boys.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I don't own _Samurai Champloo _or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Neither do I own the haiku of Matsuo Basho (translation by R.H. Blyth, this chapter).

A/N: Yo. A dory is a small fishing boat with a flat bottom, flat angled sides, a single pair of oars and a simple spritsail. Han? Government officials. Relics? Yucky, but exist.

I'm taking liberties with Toyohashi, which wasn't named that until 1869; before that time it was Yoshida. My map, however, was printed after 1869 and I'm using the modern name because my brain is close to capacity at the moment. Also, this chapter has some squick to it.

* * *

_**Nenju**_

_XIII. The old pond_

* * *

Mugen wasn't a superstitious man, but what that Noshiro guy had said had been enough to make the hair on the back of his neck prickle uncomfortably.

The idea that Jin would betray them was —

"He _wouldn't_," he heard her mutter under her breath.

The ronin was walking far enough ahead of them that he would not have heard; since they'd left the town, he'd been walking steadily, face unreadable under the kasa, only pausing long enough for Fuu to dart off behind some trees.

He hadn't spoken then, either.

_Shit_, Mugen thought.

He adjusted his pace to walk slightly behind her. "Move your ass, girlie," he told her, voice pitched to carry. Then, more softly, "No. He wouldn't."

He nodded, seeing the corner of her mouth curl up.

* * *

The ghost village, for the most part, was still deserted after two years, though some of the houses showed signs that they'd been used in the not so distant past, either as shelter or as a source for building materials. They chose one of the smaller ones in which the firepit was in relatively good condition, and which had a sturdy roof. (The ronin and the girl were also in favor of the fact that the small house did not appear to have wild animals living in it, which Mugen privately believed was foolish. _He_'d reserve judgment on whether that was a bad thing or not, at least until he found out if the animals were tasty.)

Any rate, it seemed safe enough to leave Fuu, who was busy sorting through a pile of discarded crockery in hopes of finding something they could use, for a little while. "Oi," Mugen said, flicking his eyes toward the door when Jin looked up at him. The other man nodded. "I'm taking fish face out for a minute. You leave here, don't go too far, all right?"

"Fine, whatever," she answered, pausing but not looking up as they walked out.

Mugen ambled alongside the ronin, loose and relaxed. "So, what was that back there?" he asked conversationally. "Because it's bothering her."

Jin frowned. "You wanted to tell me that?"

"No, and for someone who's supposed to be as smart as you are . . . you're not."

"I'm well aware of _that_," the other man said dryly. "Now, why are we out here?"

For answer, Mugen lazily flipped backwards onto his hands and sent a spinning roundhouse kick at the ronin's midsection. Jin jerked away from the sharp edge of the geta, hand dropping automatically to the daisho at his hip; the Ryukyuan rolled away, grinning, as he sent a spatter of dirt wheeling up into the ronin's unprotected face. Jin's arm came up to cover his eyes, and succeeded only partially. He coughed and wiped at his cheeks, blinking, as Mugen squatted comfortably in the path alongside him.

When he stopped rubbing his face, Jin gave Mugen an icy glare. "What was _that_ supposed to be?" the ronin bit out.

"You're a little slower than you used to be," Mugen observed. "Think I am, too."

The glare faded, to be replaced by . . . interest?

"Thing about the shogun's girl, she was fast."

The ronin's eyebrows quirked. "I . . . don't believe I needed to know that," he said.

The Ryukyuan gave him an annoyed look. "Look, it wasn't weird or anything, we just — there was a little rough stuff."

"With a _woman_?" Jin's eyes narrowed, as Mugen winced. The ronin was funny about women that way; Mugen wasn't much for fighting with women either — they generally had the advantage in that he was trying to subdue rather than hurt them, plus they fought dirtier than the average man — but he'd do it if one was trying to kill him or his. Still, there were times when he wished Jin had never heard of that screwed-up code of whatever of his.

"She hit me first, asshole! I didn't hit her. I, ah — I pinned her to the wall, but that was it. And she kicked me."

"Kicked you?"

Mugen gave the other man a significant look. "She kicked _me_."

"Oh." There was the smallest amount of sympathy in Jin's voice. "I see."

"Yeah."

The ronin nodded, and began walking toward Toyohashi and the beach, Mugen falling into step beside him. "As quick as Sara?"

"No."

"Hn. Good." Jin sighed. "We should assume that Hankichi is at the girl's level at least, if not quicker. I'd rather be pleasantly surprised than not."

"Yeah, it'd be a change."

"We'll start this afternoon."

Mugen shook his head. "Tomorrow would be better." Jin gave him a curious look, but said nothing.

The fishermen were coming in with the catch, as they stepped onto the packed sand of the beach; Mugen watched the familiar scene, his eye automatically picking out which men kept their nets and gear in best repair, until he saw what he was looking for.

"That one," he said softly to the ronin. "Third one from the left."

"Ah."

"Yeah. Tonight." Satisfied, he looked up from the boats, out toward the rocky bluffs that curved past Toyohashi proper in an arc curling round the harbor. "Got to be in there, somewhere."

"Is that where you'd put it?"

Mugen nodded. "Mukuro was evil, but he wasn't stupid unless it came to Kohza."

They walked down along the shoreline, for all intents and purposes two men out to stretch their legs, as the man in red looked for half-hidden rocks and shallows in the water. He didn't remember enough from the time he'd been out on the water with Mukuro and his men, that was the trouble. Mugen scratched the back of his head, noting the position of the sun; it was starting to set, but it was late summer, which meant sunset _lingered_.

Dammit.

He grunted in frustration, and turned back to the ronin. "C'mon. Might as well go back, it's going to be a while before we head out," he said. "We do that thing, we'll have a hard time doing it on an empty stomach."

"Mm."

They turned back toward the ghost village casually, as Mugen stuck his hands in his pockets. Jin, he noticed, had his hands tucked back up in his sleeves, and looked as relaxed as he'd ever seen him.

"Did you see him?" the ronin asked him calmly.

"Yeah." The man in green had been their silent companion, up to the shoreline, when he'd prudently stayed back among the trees where he could keep watch over them. He'd almost been good enough to remain unseen, and probably would have been had he been following anyone else.

* * *

The oars creaked, the sound the song of wood and water he'd known since childhood, as the lantern lit their way. They'd switched places as they got closer to the land; Jin was turning out to be tolerably good with small boats, grasping instinctively the most efficient way to row without being told, and Mugen had settled himself in the prow of their borrowed dory to watch for anything that could tear a hole in the hull. He could swim, and he knew the ronin could as well (Mugen shook his head slightly to clear it of the memory of the other man in that pond near Osaka), but it would be again as difficult to retrieve the ryu from the bottom of the harbor. They'd been looking for a few hours — it would be time soon to take the boat back, before it was missed.

The cliff Jin was steadily rowing them past looked to be made of limestone, which meant there were more hidden caves at the base, carved by generations of waves. "Oi. Hold up," Mugen told him softly, lifting the lantern to let it illuminate the rock face as they drifted in; there had not looked to be anyone awake in the town as they'd gently pushed the dory into the water, but voices traveled, he knew. At least the waning moon would hide them, though it made looking for the stolen ryu more difficult.

He peered inside as Jin let them drift up close. "Anything?" the ronin asked, using one of the oars to push them away from the rocks.

Mugen turned, and grinned wickedly at him, the dory nosing into the shallow cave. "How about a little farewell present from Mukuro?" He held the lantern up, the light spilling over to pool on boxes stacked on a rock shelf at the back of the cave.

Jin grunted in satisfaction.

* * *

She let the last gold ryu trickle through her fingers into the pile in front of her. "That makes two hundred," she breathed, looking up at them wide-eyed. "Two _hundred_ ryu."

Mugen leaned back, lacing his hands together behind his head and grinning wolfishly at her; even Jin looked pleased, somehow, the Ryukyuan decided.

"We left the rest," he told her. "It's not going anywhere, and we can't carry too much with us without attracting attention. We can always come back, right?"

"Hn." Jin nodded. "We'll have enough."

"Well, we shouldn't have any trouble getting to Nagasaki with this," she said. "Even ten would have been enough for that."

"Probably need some for travel, some for bribes, but most of this's gonna be for wherever it is that you're going," Mugen told her.

Fuu sat back and gave them a skeptical look, the two hundred ryu forgotten. "Guys, I appreciate this and all, but — " She paused. "We haven't had any problems so far. I mean, anything that would be related to me, I think."

"Yeah?"

"I don't know, but, um — how sure are you about the shogun's men?" she asked. "It just doesn't sound — and then Jin killed that Kariya man, they wouldn't have had anyone else like that, would they?"

The two men exchanged glances, before Jin spoke. "Fuu, there are at least two of the shogun's men who have followed us here."

"What?" She went very still.

"They've been there since — " Mugen shrugged, looking at the other man.

"Motomachi, I believe," Jin said.

Her forehead wrinkled, as she studied the floor of the tiny house; when she spoke again, the words came out slowly. "And when did you plan on telling me this?"

_Ooh, this — not good,_ Mugen thought. Not only was a pissed-off Fuu liable to yell and do something absolutely idiotic like stomp off and fall off a cliff into a river, there was also his own treacherous body to deal with; it was _severely_ fucked-up that he could think of skinny little Fuu that way anyway, especially now, and when she was angry, it was — he turned his head slightly and examined the fine webbing of cracks in the wall of the tiny house. Winter would probably mean some damage, he thought, the foundation was not as steady as it could be —

"We only saw them in Hamatatsu," Jin told her. "It wasn't until today that we saw one of them here."

"Mm." She raised an eyebrow at that, but failed to start yelling, so that was good, Mugen thought. She looked from Jin to him, her mouth drawn up. "All right," she said. "You two, start talking."

"Hey, we told you — " Mugen protested, before she cut him off.

"No. You need to tell me what you know, and how you know it," she said. "Otherwise, I really appreciate what you two have done for me, but goodbye." She crossed her arms and gave them a look so _ridiculously_ grumpy, that it made him want to burst out laughing . . . probably not a good idea, he decided.

"Hn." Jin nodded. "You're right, Fuu. We should have told you in the beginning."

She gave him an approving look, and turned to Mugen expectantly.

"Uh. Yeah," he told her. "Won't do it again." _Probably_, he amended. _Unless it's a good idea. Or sounds like one at the time._

He grinned at her.

Fuu gave him a dubious look, but didn't press the point. "Good. Now, talk."

Jin was pointedly studying the edge of his sleeve; Mugen shrugged, and began.

* * *

"After we left the crossroads, I went down to the harbor in Nagasaki," Mugen said. "I wasn't there long before I found a ship that was sailing to the mainland and then to Matsumae. They needed extra hands, and Matsumae sounded as good as anything else — I knew most of the han who'd killed Okuru were dead, and the ones that were left, I figured they probably weren't gonna be looking for me. Besides that, I never went that far north before, so why not?

"Get to Matsumae — where I froze my ass off, by the way, I don't know what's up with the people dumb enough to _live_ there — and when I start asking around about villages where everyone got sick and the han burned the place down, turns out there's more'n one. Anyway, I'm in this place for some sake when I run into some of the crew from the ship. They start telling me the ship was leaving on the tide for Edo, with a bonus for every hand if we can get there quick because one of the shogun's personal guards was on board, and he needed to get there sooner than yesterday.

"Wasn't anything for me in Matsumae, so I went back to the ship. I know you two never been on one that size, so I'll tell you that no matter how much you want to keep a secret on board, you can't. The only way you're gonna do it is if you keep your mouth shut and everyone that's with you keeps theirs shut, too. Shogun's man didn't know that, though — maybe he didn't care, I don't know — and he used to talk to the guy he was traveling with, a lot. Everyone could overhear him when they were on watch, but I don't think anyone else was listening. I wouldn't've paid any attention, but he was talking about the Christians."

"Wait. How long ago was this?" Fuu asked.

Mugen scratched his ear. "Maybe four months to sail to Matsumae, one to Edo — year and a half, I guess. Just wait, willya?"

She grumbled, but subsided as he continued.

"Do you remember those stepping pictures?" Mugen asked Jin, who nodded. "I don't know if you've seen 'em, Fuu, they're these pictures of stuff like in that Christian temple that was on Ikitsuki, and you can tell if someone's one if they won't step on the picture. Anyway, they're getting impatient — going around with stepping pictures is taking too long, and it doesn't work as good as it used to.

"So, what the shogun's man said they were going to do was find the Christian leaders that were left, and make an example of them and their families." The Ryukyuan paused, remembering the cold nausea that had risen in his stomach as the man spoke. "He mentioned your sunflower dude by name," he told her.

"Oh." She looked at him with wide, stricken eyes, and he felt a pain; she was so _small_ —

"They talked about the Christians more — " Mugen broke off, and gave Jin a flat, bleak glance. "I really don't want to tell her this," he said. "It's not gonna help."

"She needs to know," the ronin said quietly.

Awkwardly, Mugen reached out and squeezed her hand; his had gone clammy, he knew. "They were talking about something — the Christians think that the ones that the shogun's men kill are important — "He opened his mouth, but could not find the words.

"The Christians who have been killed are important to the rest," Jin said steadily. "They are so important to them that sometimes they believe that things that belonged to those who were killed have power in themselves."

"Things?" she asked, her fingers tightening around Mugen's. "Why — "

"I don't understand why, myself," Jin told her. "Father Zuikou said they were called relics, and that they could be anything. Clothing, books — but it's the dead Christians themselves that are particularly powerful, even if it's only a small part of them. A small bone from a finger, or even some hair."

Her free hand curled up toward her mouth, and she had gone pale, so pale — Mugen braced himself to catch her, if she fell.

"We don't know what happened to them, Fuu," the ronin said gently. "After Mugen found me, we went to Nagasaki to find you, but the shogunate was already there on the island and looking for you. You were more important for us to find."

"Them?"

Mugen nodded, as Jin said, "Your mother, as well. I'm sorry, Fuu. They were unsure as to whether the Christians would have an interest in her or not."

"Oh." Letting go of Mugen's hand, she got up restlessly from where she was sitting, and stood for a moment in the door looking out at the crescent moon. She rubbed her thin arms as if to warm them. When she turned toward them again, her face was solemn but controlled. "Did they say anything else, Mugen?"

He shook his head. "When we got to Edo, I left the ship and headed south to find Jin."

He felt the cloth of her kimono brush against him as she sat back down, facing the ronin. "Well, Jin?" she asked.

The ronin folded his hands into his sleeves. "There isn't much for me to tell you. In my travel, I had heard the shogunate was moving against the Christians, but I was unaware of the suppression of the relics," he said. "I had noticed that they were treating the Christians much more harshly than I had seen them do before."

Fuu frowned in puzzlement. "Where were you?"

Jin's eyebrow twitched. "I went east, from the crossroads. I did not stay in any one place, for very long."

"What were you doing?" she asked curiously.

The eyebrow twitched, _again_; Mugen leaned forward, trying to stifle a grin. He'd been trying unsuccessfully to worm the full story out of the other man since he'd come across him on a dusty road in the south.

"Many things," the ronin said, evasively, and the Ryukyuan stopped trying to hide his merriment. Of all the things to say — Mugen decided that somehow, Jin had completely missed out on learning how _not_ to draw the woman's attention to something he wanted to skim over.

Fuu now demonstrated that, while the two men were masters of the Raised Eyebrow, she was their equal in the lethal art of the Puppy Eyes. The ronin shifted uneasily. "What were you doing, Jin?" she repeated herself, sweetly.

"I — was part of a group that traveled with a daimyo's daughter to her wedding."

"Mm?"

_Ooh. _Mugen winced. It would be any moment now — Jin was lasting longer than he'd thought, but that almost looked like sweat beading along the ronin's temple.

Jin muttered something then, of which Mugen only caught a quarter. Something about books?

"What was that?" she asked serenely. "I couldn't hear you."

"I read."

Nonplussed, she gave him a strange look, as Jin sighed.

"Out loud, to other people." When neither Fuu nor Mugen said anything, the ronin reached into his pack and pulled out an old but obviously well-cared for book. "The _Taiheiki_ was popular, and the _Tales of Genji_ — "

Fuu bit her lip. "You were embarrassed about _that_?"

Jin opened his mouth to answer, as Mugen snickered. "'M not surprised," the Ryukyuan told them. "You do a pretty good job reading aloud, even if it's just stupid stuff like what the weather was like, or food — " He stopped himself, as the ronin looked on smugly.

Fuu's eyes narrowed dangerously at them both, as Jin's smug expression faded.

_Oh, shit — _

"Stupid stuff?" she asked. "It wouldn't have been if I could have trusted you two _to keep out of my things!"_

"_Ow!_ Goddammit, fish face, I told you not to show her how to hit!"

" . . . "


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I don't own _Samurai Champloo _or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Neither do I own the haiku of Matsuo Basho (translation by R.H. Blyth, this chapter).

A/N: Many thanks again to everyone who's read the story this far, and my gratitude to everyone who's reviewed — particularly everyone at you're all a thousand kinds of good, kids. It's a shorter chapter this time, but I wanted to end it where it does because of what happens next chapter. (All will become clear ... er. Honest.)

Masamune is widely acknowledged as the greatest swordsmith of Japan, and lived roughly three hundred years before this tale is set.

* * *

_**Nenju**_

_XIV. A frog jumps in_

* * *

Somehow, he had offended the gods _more_.

How, the ronin wondered, was that even possible?

"Come on, Jin. Pleeeease?"

"Yeah, fish face, read us one of your books. Something about chicks with great big — "

"_Mugen!_"

"... what?"

* * *

Seawater was fine to use for steaming fish, but for this, he wanted fresh water.

He had become used to shaving himself without a mirror in the first few months after leaving the dojo; he probably could have managed to go more than a few days, but he'd never liked feeling that unkempt. Mugen, on the other hand, could go weeks without shaving himself (though, in all fairness, Jin admitted, the other man was better about bathing than he _had_ been when they'd met in Edo) and never seemed to mind.

Of course, if he was shaving himself with a tanto, too, it would probably be easier to make the decision to go more than a few days.

Jin tucked his hair behind his ears and tilted his head, drawing the small sharp blade over the corner of his jaw —

"Jin! I — _oh_!"

_Ow!_

He wiped at the trickle of blood with his thumb — there wasn't a lot, he was pleased to see — as Fuu stopped dead in her tracks. "Sorry," she said, giving him a rueful little smile. "Oh, Jin, you're _bleeding_."

"It's nothing. What is it?" He pulled his kimono up from where it had been hanging loosely around his waist, slipping his hand into the sleeve.

"Jin — " She looked at him strangely. "What are you doing?"

He blinked. "It is unseemly — "

"You know, you spent a whole week on Ikitsuki just wearing your hakama," she told him. "I've already seen you like this. And your water's getting cold."

"Hn." The ronin dabbed gingerly at his cut, before giving in and picking up the little blade again, kimono falling down around his hips.

Fuu perched on the trunk of a fallen tree, a few paces away. "And then, while you and Mugen were unconscious, Jerome helped me dress you up like women," she continued. "You're a lot prettier than he is." His eyes flickered over to her; she was grinning wickedly.

Despite himself, the corner of his mouth twitched. "Than your father's servant? Mm."

She shook her head in mock sadness. "How did you get to be so — ? Mugen would have been yelling and cursing at me."

"There was a girl in Edo," he told her, pulling the skin taut as he scraped the edge over his cheek. "And a coin toss, I believe." He rinsed the blade with a decisive _tap!_ against the side of the bowl that held his water.

"Yes, but then you would have missed all that wonderful starvation and having a crazy guy almost kill you. Are you saying you didn't like that?"

He paused, and was about to answer when he glanced over and realized she was staring fixedly at him.

"Fuu?" Was he bleeding again? He brushed his thumb over the cut and looked — no, that wasn't it.

"Yes?"

"What is it?"

"Your scar." She got off the tree and came up to him, close enough so that he could see the individual strands in the hair pulled away from her temples; he stood there, conscious of his breathing, as she peered critically at his abdomen where Kariya had run him through.

_Ah_. That. "I should — "

"It healed really well. I was afraid you were going to have a much bigger scar than this," she told him. "I was going to ask you before this, but — " Hesitantly, she touched the long thin silver line on his skin, as he stopped breathing entirely.

At some level, he was conscious of how _soft_ her fingers were; he forced himself to school his body into behaving normally, as he drew a ragged breath. "Fuu," he said again, and was quiet, having absolutely no idea what to say next. _More!_ seemed inappropriate at the moment. Granted, it would be honest and honesty was one of the great virtues of bushido, and he thanked the gods she was used to his silences, because inside his head he was _babbling_ and if anything further came out of his mouth right now, it would be a wholly emasculating whimper.

Briefly, he wondered how disgraceful it would be to let the next idiot-bent-on-vengeance from the Mujuu just kill him, before she unmanned him completely — _oh_.

Too late, then.

"It's not raised or anything, so it should fade," she was telling him, as her open palm rested against his side and her fingertips traced delicately over the flaw. She was standing close enough that he could hear her breathing (more even than his, damn her) but her arm was held out, bent only slightly as she touched him.

Considerately, he moved closer to her, until he could feel against his chest the faintest movement of air from her breathing, and her arm relaxed. "If I should — " he said, and fell silent. Should what, he wondered. Kiss her? Take the sticks out of her hair? Run screaming back to the monk at Motomachi and beg to be taken on as a novice before he did something stupid?

"How do you do that?" she asked wistfully.

He frowned a little. "Hm?"

"You never _want_ anything."

The ronin blinked.

"You never seem to, anyway," she told him, and rubbed his scar gently with her thumb. "You weren't even thinking about this scar until I brought it up, were you?"

Jin shook his head; he was having a difficult time thinking of it _now_.

"I wish — " She pursed her lips together. "I'm sorry."

He reached out slowly and touched her arm.

They heard the sharp clatter of geta at the same time, turning their heads as Mugen came around the corner. "Oi — " He saw them and stopped, before asking pointedly, "Do I need to come back later?"

"What? No!" Fuu told him, letting her hand drop back to her side as she moved away from Jin, who would have cheerfully decapitated the Ryukyuan at that moment. "Geez. Give it a rest, willya?"

"You sure?" The other man sat down comfortably on the fallen tree. "Or I could just wait here."

Jin snorted derisively, as he started shaving himself again. The water had gone cold while Fuu had been saying . . . whatever it was that she'd been saying (what _had_ she been saying? And _he_ was supposed to be the inscrutable one), he noted with sour amusement.

"You can be such a jerk," Fuu told Mugen, before sitting on the tree next to him.

The Ryukyuan grinned at the ronin, who looked back at him impassively as the blade scraped over his skin.

He could still feel her hand on his side.

* * *

"When will you be finished, Fuu?"

She shook her head, not looking up from where she was stitching a crumpled piece of red cloth. "Not before tonight."

Mugen shrugged. "So we stay here another day. So what?"

"Hn." By default, the ronin had become their navigator again; he fished the map out of his kimono as the other man came over to look. "Osaka."

"Yeah? Big place. Good times."

"No. Big place. Government officials," Jin corrected him.

Mugen eyed him skeptically. "Thought we figured shogun's men were using us as bait."

"Ah," the ronin agreed. "But Osaka is still an unnecessary risk."

"We're pretty close to Kyoto," Fuu said, flexing her hands. "I'm sure we could — "

"Nope," Mugen said. "Not going to Kyoto."

"Why not?"

_Because_, Jin told her silently.

"Because," Mugen told her loftily and crossed his arms. "'S not safe."

Her face set mutinously, and the ronin hurried to cut off any argument. "We'll go through the mountains. That is the quickest way, if we are to avoid Osaka." Jin folded the map carefully and tucked it back into his kimono.

"All right," she said, shaking out the cloth before giving it to the Ryukyuan. "One haori, done. Now, you two need to leave for a while because I'm not doing mine in front of you."

"Fine," Mugen said, shrugging into the sleeves. "Come on, fish face. We'll find a nice place where you can peep at her."

"Mugen!"

* * *

"So," said the Ryukyuan, once the hut was far enough away that the sound of their voices would not travel back. "Want to tell me what was going on back there?"

Jin grunted. _No._

"Or I could just kick your ass, because we haven't practiced yet this morning."

"All right."

The weight of the katana was familiar and soothing in the ronin's hand, the cloth at the hilt worn from years of use. Idly, he wondered how her father had come by it. It was not as old as his had been, nor was it Masamune — possibly a student of his, though not the master's work — but it was still remarkably fine, finer than one would expect a man of the waves to be carrying. Of course, he reminded himself, it wasn't entirely his.

He realized after Mugen's first move that the other man was distracted, as well.

"Oi," Jin said, parrying. "Want to tell me what was going on back there?"

"Don't think so." The other man slipped into a crouch, striking up and —

The ronin turned, allowing the tip of the European sword to hiss past him harmlessly.

"Ryukyus're a dumb idea," Mugen said abruptly. He kicked dust, a cloud rising up where his opponent's face had been a second before, and grinned. "You're learning."

Jin moved behind him and fluidly brought the katana back, just missing the newly heavy edge of the red haori. "How is it, this way?"

Mugen considered. "Not bad. Takes a little getting used to, but Fuu's a smart girl to come up with this," he said. "She's going to kill you if she has to sew that up again."

"Hn," the ronin agreed, slashing down as the sound of metal meeting metal chimed out. "The Ryukyus might be the only choice we have."

Mugen snarled and did a handspring away from him. "Satsuma-han'd be dangerous even without her dad. Bunch of fucks."

"Satsuma-han or not, we still need to convince the foreigner to help us. We can't even be sure he has not returned to his own country."

The Ryukyuan stood. "You know, I like you better when you're not talking."

Jin nodded. "Mm."

Mugen scrubbed his hair away from his face, and made a face of disgust. "Problem is, there's nowhere else. Don't want to take her west — none of us speak the language — and there's nothing to the east."

"No." The ronin sighed. "She still isn't sleeping well."

"Can't blame her," the other man observed. He frowned suddenly, looking past Jin's shoulder, his eyes focused on something in the distance; the ronin turned cautiously — had Mugen learned tactics somewhere? — to see a slight figure approaching.

Behind him, Jin heard Mugen mutter, words in a language he did not recognize but in a tone he did.

The figure closed on them, walking at a steady pace; he cursed inwardly, as recognition came.

Doe's eyes came up to meet them.

"Hello, Mugen," Kohza said, and smiled.

* * *

Fuu squeaked, clutching pink fabric to her chest, as the Ryukyuan strode past her. "Mugen!"

"We're leaving. Now," he ground out, tipping the ryu that she hadn't sewn into their clothes into a sack. "Get your things."

Jin walked in a moment behind him, collected enough by now that he stopped inside the door when he saw Fuu.

"I'm not — will you two get _out_ of here?" Angry, she picked up the closest thing to hand, and threw it at Mugen.

"_Ow_! Bitch, what the — oh." He rubbed his head, her sandal falling to the ground with a muted thud, as he turned to see a furiously blushing woman sitting in her underclothes while gripping a pink kimono in front of her, and a ronin studiously looking at the ceiling.

Grumbling, he allowed a grim Jin to shepherd him outside, where they sat down with their backs against the wall of the hut, Fuu complaining about perverts behind them.

"Why are we leaving? I'm not finished yet," her voice drifted out from the inside. "I haven't even started on Jin's."

"Got a little problem," Mugen said, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. "Need to leave. Now."

"What? Is it the shogun's men?"

"No," Jin said, as calmly as possible. "We saw the girl from Ryukyu."

There was silence inside the hut, then Fuu emerged with her clothes tied messily around her, eyes serious and alert. "All right," she said, nodding at Jin. "You, give me your kimono — I can work on it while he explains." She looked at Mugen. "And you, start talking. I thought you killed her."

Mugen sighed, as the ronin stripped to his hakama and gave her his kimono. "I thought I did too."

* * *

"So you killed Shiren instead of her," Jin said. "I see."

Fuu looked up from where her needle was flashing in and out of the cotton. "She really isn't that dangerous on her own, is she?" she asked. "I mean, she got other people to do the bad for her. I don't see how staying one more night would be a problem as long as we just stay away from her."

Jin nodded. "Hn."

Mugen glared at them both, before digging in his ear with a long, knobbed finger. "Bitch is bad news," he said. "I say we get the hell out of here and don't give her the chance to make trouble."

"Fuu. How much more is there to do?" Jin looked up at her, as she shook her head.

"About half."

"We'll stay, then," Jin decided, shifting against the wall; something was digging into his back. "She'd have to have found someone after Mukuro and Shiren, but I doubt they'd be able to do much in a matter of hours. Even if we left now, we would still need before long to find a place where Fuu could finish."

The Ryukyuan snarled in annoyance at their situation. "Fine. Yeah. I don't like it, but I'll do it."

"Good." She brought the thread to her lips and neatly bit it off. "She just said hello?"

"Left before she could say anything else," Mugen said. "Fish face and I circled around so she wouldn't see where we went — got back here, she was gone."

Fuu made a small noise. "Maybe she's sorry," she hazarded.

The Ryukyuan rolled his eyes.


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: I don't own _Samurai Champloo _or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Neither do I own the haiku of Matsuo Basho (translation by R.H. Blyth, this chapter).

* * *

_**Nenju**_

_XV. The sound of water_

* * *

She would never tell either of them, but they were less skilled at keeping things from her than they thought.

Fuu knew, for instance, that Mugen was actually listening whenever he crossed his arms and looked bored. She also knew that when he said that neither of them would change his mind about something, it meant that he _knew_ whatever he was about to do was completely stupid, and that he would feel like an idiot in discussing it further even though they disapproved.

(The declaration of not changing his mind was normally accompanied by Mugen walking off without them, which then meant he didn't need anyone, thank you very much, he could screw things up just fine on his own.)

Fuu was also relatively fluent in Jin-ese. A short 'Hn' that rose at the end meant "I am intrigued. Please elaborate while I think about this," and a long 'Hn' without any inflection was "I am _so_ not getting into this with you, but my dojo scrambled my head and made me unnaturally polite." Sometimes, he would swap off 'Hn' with 'Ah' and they could be interchangeable, but an 'Ah' that followed a long series of 'Hn' was very different, and always meant "Stop talking. Now. Please."

How the ronin acted was often a good indicator of what he was thinking, she knew. She liked it when he tucked his hands into his sleeves; that was Jin when he was comfortable with the world around him. Sword sharpening, on the other hand, was a very bad thing to see — she'd been with them long enough to understand he did that when he expected to be using it, _soon_.

At the moment, both of them were shouting — though not in any words.

Mugen wasn't even bothering with a pretense of sleep; he lay, eyes open, on his sleeping mat with theforeign sword close to hand.

Jin's eyes were closed, and his breathing slow and regular, as he sat upright with his daisho resting across his lap. She knew he wasn't asleep; he was _waiting_.

Well, if they weren't going to sleep —

"Why would she even bother?" Fuu ventured. "It's not like we have anything she wants."

Silently, Mugen looked at her, then ostentatiously shifted on his mat; his clothes clinked in response, as he raised an eyebrow at her.

"All right, she might want that. But she doesn't know we have it."

"We can't be completely sure of that," Jin said, dryly.

She rolled over on her mat to look directly at him. "What're you talking about?"

"There's a little noise when you move around a lot," Mugen said. "Figured it out right before we saw Kohza."

"You didn't say anything in front of her, though. Right? You would've told me if you did that."

"No, but she might have heard the noise. She's not stupid — she might be able to come up with what we're doing here," the Ryukyuan said, propping his head on his hand, which Fuu recognized as 'hurry up and happen already' in Mugen-speak. "She knows we ain't here to see her."

"Still, I don't see why she'd come out here. You said it yourself, Mukuro's dead, and that Shiren guy, so all she's left with is — well, her. Considering there's three of us, we should be able to keep a girl my size from taking our things, right?" Fuu asked reasonably, and yawned. "So, we should be able to get some sleep, because that would be a good idea if we're leaving tomorrow."

"Hn," said Jin, drawing the syllable out evenly, as Mugen grunted rudely.

She rolled her eyes, before closing them for the night. _Idiots_.

* * *

Fuu wasn't the sort of woman who said things like 'I told you so'; except, of course, for the times when she did.

Like now, for instance.

"You know," she said conversationally, "I think the last time you both looked this rotten was when you ditched me for that old floozy. Remember? The one who got you both drunk and stole our money?"

Mugen yawned and rubbed his stomach before answering. "Bitch."

"No, seriously, you looked better than this when Jerome was bandaging you."

"Will you shut _up_?"

"Mm." Jin hadn't bothered opening his eyes, which — all right, it wasn't as if he had never experienced Fuu and Mugen sniping at each other, but a girl liked to be appreciated for the effort she made.

She bounced in place a little, waiting her turn to board the ferry as Jin climbed in first. The day was clear and cool, seasonable for early autumn, and ideal for crossing the bay; she hadn't enjoyed the ferry ride across to Ise last time, considering the rain and the rough sea. Today, though, the waters looked much calmer.

Mugen handed her in next, then leapt aboard himself when she was settled. The ferryman shoved off, the small boat moving smoothly with the current. It was early — they were the only passengers on board. Like Jin, the Ryukyuan leaned back against a barrel and closed his eyes for a catnap, as Fuu looked around with great interest. It was a treat to be able to sit for a while and do absolutely nothing, especially the sort of enforced nothing that meant there was nothing else she could do but relax; the sunlight was warm, and the steady thump of waves against the side of the ferry soothing —

— she woke, as the ronin shifted, his attention caught by something in the distance. She wiped the corner of her mouth surreptitiously. "We there already?" The harbor looked close, she supposed, but she could've had a few more minutes of sleep —

"No," Mugen told her, shortly. "Someone's coming up on us. I want you over by these barrels, now, and _stay_ there." She scrambled over the seat, past Jin who was focused on the horizon.

"One ship," the ronin said. "At least a small portion of it covered in metal."

"Goddammit." Mugen cursed, a few words in his language she was coming to recognize; _at least I'll know a couple words_ _if that's where I end up_, she thought to herself. _I can be that woman who swears all the time._ "Oi, ferryman! Pirates!"

The man blinked, looking at the small ship that was crossing the bay rapidly toward them, before freezing in place.

"Shit!" The Ryukyuan moved, knocking the ferryman to the bottom of the boat as he took the tiller. "We aren't going to be able to get out of here in time," he warned. "They're sailing with the wind, we aren't. Fuu, sit tight until I tell you."

Obediently, she curled her knees up under her chin and wedged her back against the barrels as firmly as she could, bracing —

The pirate ship hit them, _hard_.

The prow of the pirate ship struck them heavily amidships, the metal edge shearing into the side of the ferry; the impact knocked her head back against the curved wood, hard enough to bring tears. Her eyes widened, as she saw the water seeping in. The metal was caught on the side, somehow, the motion of the waves pulling at the two ships, as the metal began to give way and the pirate ship _itself_ began taking on water.

There were three men, plus one other who stayed on the deck of the pirate ship.

"You should have killed me," Kohza said calmly. "That would have been the right thing to do, Mugen."

"I don't like people telling me what to do," he said, as one of the men tried to circle around and come at him from behind; Mugen only rolled his eyes, as Jin brought his sword down, too fast to see — Fuu tucked her feet in more tightly, as the man's head went thumping past her to splash into the puddle that was collecting. The body collapsed, a moment later. "See you picked up another guy. You're Nobu, right? Didn't think you made it off when Mukuro pulled that last double-cross." This last was directed at a man standing alongside the Ryukyuan girl. The man shrugged, pulling the katana that hung at his side —

The first pirate had evidently been the worst fighter of the group, Nobu making a beeline for Mugen, as Jin dealt with the second. The ferryman had recovered his senses enough to crouch alongside Fuu. She gave him an annoyed look — what was _his_ problem? — as he stared at the head rolling gently around the bottom of his boat. The man was completely in the way; the ronin was having to fight around him.

She opened her mouth to tell the ferryman to move, just as his boat gave an ungainly lurch from the water it had taken on. The movement jolted Mugen's pirate, as he was moving to avoid a viciously spinning kick, knocking him back into Fuu; his weight pushed her away from the barrels, tippingtippingtipping —

Her arms flew wide, a gesture of supplication, as she fell backwards into the sea with her eyes fixed on Jin's face; his face was open, unguarded with his eyes full of _horror_ —

The impact and the cold — had the water always been that cold? She hadn't remembered it that way — knocked the breath out of her, as she went into the water.

* * *

The kimono was _so_ heavy, weighing her down like stones — she clawed for the bright surface, but her arms were too weak to pull her back into the air, her lungs burning — _this is bad_, she realized, the water closing over her head — she saw the morning sun, framed between her outstretched hands —

(_I'm going to die_)

— she kicked feebly, the ocean intrusive and cold against her skin like an unwelcome lover, the skirt of her kimono holding her legs fast and she was so tired —

(_I'm actually going to die_)

— the sun receding, too fast, the water growing dimmer —

(_please, help me)_

— before going completely dark.

* * *

(_please)_

* * *

_They were too far ahead of her; she could see their backs as they walked away. She opened her mouth to call out to them — but her voice choked her as she ran after them_ _through a field that had been ravaged by fire. Burnt out stalks that had gone to charcoal cut her feet as she ran, the scent of smoke tearing at her throat like dull knives._

_They kept moving forward, as she caught up to them. She grasped Jin's sleeve to make them stop, make them _see_ her, and he turned around — he looked at her calmly, the front of his kimono crimson slick from the enormous wound in his chest, and why couldn't she scream, he was looking at her with such concern, he put his hand out to her — _

— _she saw Mugen, then, his hands wet and red as they closed over her shoulders, his mouth full of blood as he kissed her, she could taste the salt on his lips as she fought him — _

* * *

— and, choking, she spat up a huge gout of seawater onto the ground alongside her.

She blinked, the sun in her eyes, before she focused and saw them.

Alive.

And looking exceedingly _worried_.

Her body spasmed, as she gagged on the taste of salt and seaweed, and Mugen gently pulled her up until she was sitting, leaning forward against his shoulder. "Hey," he said quietly, rubbing her back. "You stay away from those crow men, hear me? You tell them _no_."

"You're alive," she croaked, and started to cry. She reached back blindly until she caught Jin's warm hand in hers. "Both of you."

The ronin knelt down next to her, lacing her fingers through his. "Yes," he said simply.

They stayed like that until the racking sobs had subsided to hiccups, and she sat back, scouring her face with her waterlogged sleeve. "What happened?" Her voice was hoarse.

Mugen shrugged. "You got knocked in. Should've figured those ryu would be heavy."

Frowning, she looked from him to Jin, who said, "Mugen reached you in time."

She coughed. "You saved my life?"

The Ryukyuan scratched the back of his head, before mumbling something unintelligible.

"Thank you," she told him softly.

He grunted, and stood up. "Fish face. See if your stuff to make a fire with is dry — I'm gonna go look for some wood." Mugen set off down the shore, not waiting for an answer.

Jin nodded, and began delving into their sodden belongings as she watched. They were as wet as she was, she realized; the ronin's long black hair hung askew down his back, as his clothing dripped onto the ground — he brought out the flint from his pack and rocked back on his heels with an audible _squish!_

The giggle bubbled up out of her before she could stop herself, then, as he looked over at her questioningly.

"I'm sorry, " she said. "It's just — well." She pointed to the small puddle that had formed where he'd been kneeling, and his mouth curved up faintly.

He gathered together a few small pieces of driftwood to act as kindling. "How are you feeling?" he asked, before blowing on the precious tinder to dry it as much as possible.

Fuu wrinkled her face in distaste. "A little sick. The ocean's really salty and I think I drank some of it. Actually, I think I drank a _lot_ of it." She shivered.

Frowning, he set the tinder down, careful to put it where it would keep drying, and knelt in front of her. "Hey." He peered into her eyes.

Teeth chattering, she looked up at him as he started rubbing warmth into her arms. "Um, Jin —?" Any other time, she would have been thrilled to have this much attention from him, she thought hazily, but _this_ — "Jin!"

"Hn?" He noticed that the vigorous rubbing was causing her head to snap back and forth on her neck as if he'd been shaking her by the shoulders, and stopped. "Ah. I'm sorry."

"No, it was nice, just — " She relaxed, as he began rubbing her arms again, this time more gently. "This is good. I like this," she offered. Her eyes began closing, despite her sodden clothes, as the friction warmed her skin.

"Better?" When she nodded, he let go. He sat back from her and began the long process of drying his swords, as he waited.

"What happened to the others?"

"Dead," he told her, tipping water out of the scabbard for the katana.

"Even Kohza? You're sure?"

The ronin nodded. "She should not have been there." His voice was grim.

She looked up, as Mugen dumped an armload of wood on the ground. "We should dry out here, for a while," he said. "Town might be a good idea tonight — it's not that far. Think you can manage it, Fuu?"

"Yeah." She watched, as his hands went about the business of building a fire. The tinder smouldered briefly, before it finally took the spark and the wood caught. The fire was warm; she took her hair out of its loosened knot — not difficult, with one of the sticks that held her hair in place gone, presumably at the bottom of the bay — and wrung some of the water out of it. She combed through it with her fingers as best she could, and spread the heavy mass over her shoulders to dry. "This probably sounds stupid, but I really, really want a bath," she admitted.

The Ryukyuan grinned, as he scrubbed his hand through his hair. "Had mine already, thanks."

Jin finished wiping his katana, grimacing at the thought of all that salt water on the smooth metal, before turning his attention to himself. The leather tie that held his hair back was starting to dry and tighten, as he tried working his fingers underneath it to take it out. He looked up as Fuu tapped him on the forehead, and she gestured for him to sit with his back to her. He gave in, as she began trying to untangle the damp black mess.

Her fingers tugged pleasantly on his hair, as she worked; the beach was quiet, except for the crackling of the fire, as they sat companionably together.

One of the unexpected joys of the time they'd spent recovering on the island, after the man had killed her father, and they'd come so close to death themselves, had been the nearly unlimited amount of access she'd had to Jin's hair. The first day after, it had been a way of passing the time as she watched them; she'd managed to prop him up against her lap without waking him, and spent the next hour combing through the tangles of his hair until it was a gleaming dark river once more. It was comforting, to do it again the next day, and the days after that — the dead didn't have hair that went all to knots as they slept.

She combed Mugen's hair as well, but it wasn't the same satisfying experience, since there wasn't that much of it and no matter what she did it looked exactly the same, short of cutting it. And Jin's — she would have bitten her tongue rather than admit it, but his hair was easily more beautiful than her own, once given the proper care.

He preferred not to, though. She'd known he was recovered, the day he'd taken the comb from her hands and done it himself before tying this hair back with the same leather tie.

Fuu managed finally to free the much-abused leather from his hair with a minimum of pulling, handing it to Jin. His clever fingers began to work at the water-swollen knot, untangling the puzzle it had become. "I thought you were both dead," she found herself saying, then.

Mugen's eyes flicked up from where he'd been staring into the fire, their movement the only indication of interest from the men sitting there. The Ryukyuan yawned, crossing his arms.

"When I was in the water, I mean. I saw you." She let her eyes drop to the back of the ronin's head, as she slowly fingercombed through the damp strands. "It was — " She fell silent.

"Sometimes," Jin said slowly, his voice rumbling comfortingly in his chest, "when a person cannot breathe, he will see things that aren't there."

"It was so real," she whispered. "I could smell it — "

"It didn't happen, Fuu," he told her. "We won't leave you."

She nodded, her fingers trembling.

* * *

"They left us," her companion said, leaning back against a step. "And it's not like I'm seeing a ferry here, either."

Yatsuha gave him a dirty look. "Thanks, Captain Obvious, I'd missed that entirely."

"Ferry's late getting in, though," Hankichi told her. "It'll be harder to find them, if we don't make the crossing soon. You hear from your father yet?"

She rolled her head from side to side, hearing a satisfying crack. "Pigeon came this morning, when you were going through their hut. He said you were supposed to take my advice on everything, and — oh, yeah, you're supposed to do whatever I say."

The man in green snorted. "You saved this message? Because I'd like to see it. Uh, what with his calligraphy."

She spread her hands in mock surrender. "You know, I didn't — ? Really too bad. New instructions, though."

"Oh?"

The pretty woman nodded.

"Hm." He raised his eyebrows. "Well. Suppose we'll have to entertain ourselves until the ferry comes, then. Hey, did I tell you the one where the horse walks up to the sake stand, and — "

"Yes. And you promised me — you _promised_! — never to tell it again."

"Have you considered I might have been lying?"

"Have _you_ considered I might kick you so hard your children will feel it?"

"But I don't — oh. Right."

She sat down next to him. "So he should be here, any moment now?"

"Mm."

They turned their heads, as a running villager went past them, shouting excitedly to a crowd of men. "Hey! The ferry _sank_!"

Dismayed, Yatsuha and Hankichi exchanged looks. "Oh, _shit_," she said.

"Yeah."


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: I don't own _Samurai Champloo _or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Neither do I own the haiku of Matsuo Basho (translation by R.H. Blyth, this chapter), nor the _Tale of Genji_ (translation by Edward Seidensticker).

* * *

_**Nenju**_

_XVI. Moonlight slants through_

* * *

When she went over the side, Jin's heart stopped.

For the rest of his life, he would be able to describe _that_ moment exactly: the man he had just killed, falling to his knees with the most surprised look on his grimy face; the reek of blood and salt and the voided bladder of the man Mugen had run through; the way the ferry pitched, as it took on water; her face, frowning slightly as if she wasn't sure if she should believe this, like she did when things weren't quite _right_ — ocean swallowing her in one terrible bite as she slipped under the surface.

Mugen had seen her, too, as she fell, his face tightening when she failed to come back up again.

The Ryukyuan moved then, shouting to him to take his sword and _finish_ the bitch, before he hit the water like an arrow —

Kohza looked at him steadily, ignoring the thin trail of bubbles that marked where Mugen had gone into the water, stepping lightly off the prow of the pirate ship into the ferry. The amount of water coming into the ferry went from a stream to a river, the shift in weight pressing the boat's mortal wound deeper into the sea, water creeping around his toes.

"Thank you for killing Mukuro," she said conversationally. "I knew you would, but I never got to tell you." She climbed over the body of one of her men, making her way toward him.

Jin remained silent. She held no sword, no knife, her empty hands held palms out toward him.

"He was an evil man. The things he did — you were right to do it. I wanted to, but I couldn't." She stopped in front of him. "I asked Mugen, but he wouldn't."

"To kill Mukuro?" he asked.

She shook her head, dark eyes on his face almost pityingly. "No, to kill me."

He blinked.

"He never told you, did he? Sounds like him." She made a grim noise that might have been a chuckle, or a sob, or both; he would never know. "I can't swim. Mukuro wouldn't teach me."

"I see." The ronin glanced at the shore. He was a strong swimmer, but to swim with their packs, the ryu sewn into their clothes, and the girl —

She saw him looking from her to the beach, and smiled. "I don't want to be saved," she told him. "I'm asking you what I asked Mugen."

He breathed in sharply. "I can't."

Kohza put her hand out past the still-outstretched sword, her fingers settling on his wrist. "But that's what you're for."

"No. Not that." The water was lapping around his ankles, the ferry listing to one side.

He had forgotten how very_ reasonable_ the Ryukyuan girl could sound —

Those dark eyes looked through him, unreadable. "You never killed anyone who really wanted to die? No one?"

(_why do you keep running from me)_

"It would be a mercy," she told him, her hand coming up to rest on his chest as she came closer. "I'll drag us both down, otherwise. You'd never see her again."

He wanted to move away from that hand as quickly as he could, the fine hair on his arms prickling in something that went deeper far than any patina of civilization his shishou had ever given him — desperately, he shook his head.

Her hand slipped down — the wakizashi at his hip sliding from the sheath smooth as whispers, as water on skin — the point coming to settle under his chin. "It'll happen whether you want it to or not, but you could make it quick."

_(I will never, ever let you get away)_

* * *

Jin closed his eyes, as the blade slid in.

* * *

His legs were shaking, when he reached the shore and hauled himself onto dry land. Ahead of him, Mugen held a still figure in pink, shouting as —

Jin scrambled up the rocks and over to them. She was (_not moving not moving oh gods please not anything not that anything I will I will_) lying on her side, the Ryukyuan frantically rubbing her back, her outstretched hand fallen away from her. Irrationally, his mind fastened on the way her small fingers were curled and how unbelievably _tiny_ the fingernails were, like a child's.

His feet went out from under him, then, as he saw how blue her lips were, the moment before the other man pinched her nose shut and blew into her mouth —

He almost missed it, unbelieving, as her chest hitched once, twice — seawater spattered alongside her, as she drew in an enormous sobbing breath; he could have kissed Mugen in his relief.

He gently took her hand when she held it out to him, mindful of those fragile little bones.

* * *

After very little discussion ("_— one more word about how that many baths are bad for you, and this dead fish is going down your gi— "_), they found an inn built around a large hot spring, and an innkeeper who raised his eyebrows at their appearance but said nothing as they paid in gold.

Prudently, the spring had been divided in two by a large wooden partition, men and women bathing separately. Mugen cast a wistful eye toward the women's side, but sank into the steaming water next to Jin without a word.

The ronin closed his eyes, the warmth welcome as it seeped into his bones. He leaned back, his hair floating around him — as a finger poked him squarely in the temple; he opened his eyes tiredly.

"Oi." Mugen frowned at him. "Don't fall asleep, because I'm not saving your ass." The Ryukyuan blithely dunked his head under the water, rinsing the salt from his hair. "You'd look stupid if you lived through your ship sinking just to drown while taking a bath."

"Hn," Jin agreed, glancing over at the wooden partition.

The Ryukyuan sat up, scrubbing his hands through the unruly strands, which cooperated by standing on end. "She's all right. Probably better than you are," he said. "Did you — "

"She's dead, yes." Jin closed his eyes again.

The other man sighed. "Fucking mess."

"Mm."

They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the occasional splash of water from the women's half as Fuu moved in the water.

"Thank you," Jin said.

Mugen shrugged. "Didn't do it for you," he said gruffly.

"I know."

The Ryukyuan grunted and changed the subject. "We going through Hiroshima, this time?"

"I'd hoped to, yes," Jin said. "I have one last duty in the mountains, then I'd thought to go there. It's doubtful they'll be in Hiroshima, but I gave my word."

"Good."

* * *

"What do you mean, that was the only ferry?" _Really, could this be going any less well_, she asked herself.

The villager gave the pretty woman a questioning look. "Uh, I mean that that was the only ferry."

"Yatsuha," Hankichi said, putting a hand of restraint on her arm and smiling at the man before his colleague clouted him over the head with a chunk of wood. "We're, ah, very eager to make the crossing. My . . . wife's mother is very ill."

"Oh!" The man looked at her with sympathy, as she choked. "I'd try the fishermen. You might find someone willing to take you across."

Hankichi thanked him, and steered her in the direction of the beach. To her credit, she waited until they were out of earshot. "_Wife_?" she hissed.

"I didn't think he would believe you were my mother," he answered. "Anyway, what do you care? Whatever gets us there, right?"

She glared at him. "But you're always telling people we're married. I couldn't be your sister for once?"

He grinned. "Because we look so much alike?"

"I hate you, I really do."

"But your mother likes me," he said smugly.

"Too bad she's so _ill_," she shot back, and groaned. "You know, if we have to wait here another day, that's a day closer to where they're going."

"Maybe not. Look." Hankichi pointed, as the first of the fishermen began moving into the harbor.

She sighed. _Finally._

* * *

This time, the tree-lined road into the mountains had been clear, and they'd managed to reach this point without separating; with some surprise, he realized they'd hardly even argued, this time.

He missed it, a little. Funny, he couldn't remember what they'd even argued about. Where they were going, yes, but — had they really fought as much as he remembered?

Remarkably, the stone cairn was still there. The sword was gone, of course — he hadn't really expected it to be there after all this time, but the sight made something small and battered in him fracture all over again.

He could hear the hum of voices rising and falling in the background, Fuu and Mugen as they looked around Okuru's cave. Her voice drifted out to him, clear and fluting, as she said something to the Ryukyuan, who chuckled. Without looking, he knew they were setting up camp for the night, and he took comfort from the familiar noise.

Jin crouched down, resting his fingertips against the stones. They were still warm from the sun; Yuki would have liked that, he thought. Unbidden, memory came — the boy, sitting on the steps of the dojo after a lesson, the collar of his white training kimono pulled away from his skin so that he could enjoy the last of the afternoon sun. He'd been happy with the smallest things, like the first of the pickled plums or the rare journey into Edo, as long as he'd been with Jin.

(_I won't always_ _be the same little boy I used to be_)

"Yukimaru," he whispered.

(_your time in the sun is over_)

He rocked back on his heels, feeling suddenly very tired. So much death; he had nothing to show for his life but hands full of ash and bone. He wondered what the boy would have been like, if he had lived — the thought of him as a dull little official in some seaside town in Izu, with a suitable, partridge-plump wife, and children, and a _home — _the thought was bitter and sweet at once. Yuki's life would have had meaning to it, meaning and honor in living a life for those people, who would have _loved_ him, because how could they not have done? Instead, the boy was dead, his life thrown away like a piece of broken pottery, and for nothing.

_Nothing_.

He was quiet during their meal (fish, yet again; even Fuu, as kind as she was, was having difficulty in mustering enthusiasm when Mugen brought it to her), even more so than usual, and the looks they gave each other when they thought he wasn't paying attention told him they'd noticed. If Yuki had had nothing to live for but love, then what he had was — what, exactly? Once Fuu was safe, he would have less than nothing, and any meaning to his life would be over before he was twenty-five. But he had brought honor and luster to his clan — oh, wait, he'd failed at that, too. Miserably.

Mentally, he ticked off everything he'd failed at.

He had failed to keep from killing his master (even the worst student in the lowest dojo could manage that much), he'd failed to keep Fuu safe when they'd journeyed with her to Nagasaki the first time, he'd failed to keep her from nearly drowning, he'd failed to defeat the Ryukyuan who _hadn't_ — with a complete lack of any formal training, as far as he knew — failed to save the girl. He'd even failed to keep from killing a woman. He'd even failed to keep safe a sword that had been with his family for centuries — it had survived Nagashino, and the loss of ten thousand men, but not three years with him.

Was there anything he would not fail completely, he wondered.

He felt a prickle along his skin and looked up to see Fuu. She was watching him, he realized, studying him —

(_Yukimaru, poring over a history text, looking up at him and grinning — you broke the peace treaty, he said. Crazy Takeda, don't know who your friends are — _

_Are _you_ my friend, then? _

_You know I am, you know I would do anything for you — let me — )_

Mugen stood abruptly. "Gotta take a leak," he announced, to no one in particular, before walking off downriver. Fuu smiled faintly as the man passed out of sight, as she turned her attention back to Jin.

He waited, watching the cheerful small blaze.

(_let me)_

"Jin?"

Ah, there it was —

"Tell me a story."

Or, perhaps, _not_. "Mm?" He lifted his eyes from the fire and the things he hadn't done.

She raised her eyebrows at him quizzically. "You know, telling stories by the campfire? I thought you'd probably have some good ones, well, better than mine, anyway."

"You want _another_ story?"

She scoffed. "'Another'? You didn't even tell me a first story!"

The ronin hn'ed in polite, but definite, disagreement. "I believe I did."

"You told me you were born in Kai."

"Mm. Yes."

"That's not a story, that's a — "

"You said anything, if I remember correctly, which I do." He tucked his hands into his sleeves, smothering an almost-smile.

"That was right after you almost started telling me the _Tale of Genji_!"

"You don't like the _Tale of Genji_?" He paused, one eyebrow rising gently.

She made a small growling noise of frustration, low in her throat. "Are _you_ in it?" she asked. "Because then, yes, please tell me the _Tale of Genji_."

_Ah. _He sat and considered, feeling absurdly light, somehow. "The storyteller is always in his own stories," he said.

She wrinkled her nose. "Come here — I think you hurt your head when the boat sank."

The corner of his mouth quirked up before he could stop it. "No. Fuu-chan, what sort of story do you want to hear?"

She sighed. "One about you, but somehow I don't think_ that_'s going to happen."

"Why?"

"Because you're being such a — "

"No, not that. Why do you want a story about me?"

Fuu gave him an impatient look, her mouth pursed. "Because you're in it?"she asked, enunciating clearly as if she was speaking to a small child.

"So if you were interested in bamboo cutters —"

She thought a moment. " — I would want to hear a story about them?"

Jin nodded, pleased. "Or tell a story about them."

"Oh." She drew her knees up under her chin, the firelight casting warmth in her skin. His eyes traveled to her face, and the way her hair fell forward over her cheek —

"That means the listener is in the story as well, doesn't it?" she observed.

"Hn," he agreed.

"So what sort of story would you tell? Or listen to?"

He considered. "There would be three travelers, on their way to Nagasaki."

She laughed. "I think I know that one. There's a girl, a ronin, and an ex-pirate, right?"

"A beautiful girl," he corrected. "And the ex-pirate is also a lunatic."

"Hm?" Gravel crunching underfoot, Mugen ambled up. "I miss something?"

"A beautiful girl," Fuu repeated, smiling.

"Eh?" The Ryukyuan craned his neck to look around the little beach, before stretching out in front of the fire.

She shook her head. "Nothing. Jin's not talking, again."

Jin gave them an indignant look and so did not fail to see the significant glance the girl gave the Ryukyuan, who nodded back at her. _That — ah._ The ronin contented himself with frowning at them both, unsure if he should be pleased that she seemed to like that he thought her beautiful, or dying from mortification that he'd let that slip. Or that the two of them had managed to coordinate Mugen's absence from the fireside so that she could talk him out of his gloom (the two of them plotting together worried him especially). Well, courage was one of the great virtues of bushido, and if even a monk had seen it —

"Fuu," he said.

She lifted her head from the pillow of her arms. "Mm?"

"I do know a story I can tell, if you're not too tired?"

Mugen looked up from where he was fiddling with some pebbles; slowly, the smile warmed her face. "No. Not at all," she told him.

"In the reign of a certain emperor, there was a lady whom he loved," the ronin began. "She was neither of the first rank nor of the last . . . "

* * *

A/N: Oh, Jin's chewy, chewy angst. Like caramels! Mm. Too bad this chapter was like pulling teeth — sorry for the delay, kids.

The peace treaty Yuki refers to is the Takeda-Hojo peace treaty that was broken in 1578, when Takeda Katsuyori allied with the Uesugi. The Takeda and Hojo fought off and on for the next four years, until the Oda and the Tokugawa invaded Takeda lands in 1582, and Takeda Katsuyori took his own life. Ironically, this defeat for the Takeda turned out to be not such a wonderful thing for the Hojo, considering the loss of the Takeda buffer lands played an important role in the Hojo loss at Odawara in 1590, in one of pre-Edo Japan's greatest moments of "Oops!".


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: I don't own _Samurai Champloo _or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Neither do I own the haiku of Matsuo Basho (translation by R.H. Blyth, this chapter).

A/N: Fangirl Japanese strikes again! A shaku is roughly a foot, or three and a third shaku to the meter per Wikipedia. (I suppose I could have just said 'foot', but the nerdy part of me —which composes roughly eighty-nine percent of 3Jane — keeps complaining that Fuu wouldn't be familiar with any English units of measurement.)

Also, my love and utter gratitude to everyone actually reading this monster; I'm in awe of you all, my dears.

* * *

_**Nenju**_

_XVII. The vast bamboo grove_

* * *

Fuu finally cornered him when Jin went to bathe in the river.

The ronin's inner barometer for the correct thing to do at any given time was one of his more endearing qualities, she decided (along with that intensely _dry_ sense of humor he kept to himself, and the way his shoulders moved under the cotton of his kimono as he sharpened his katana; not that she thought about that, much). A pear was always eaten neatly, stem and seeds buried in a shallow hole; their map was always refolded exactly as it had been unfolded; and bathing daily, if water was available to them, was a reflex. She knew Jin liked a bath in the evening — he preferred to meditate when he was clean — but that he wouldn't turn down what could be his only chance to wash that day, if it was morning rather than night.

Given that there was a river close by, it was only a matter of time before the ronin excused himself.

As Jin set off in the direction of the water's low murmur, Fuu casually hooked a finger into the Ryukyuan's sleeve before he could follow.

Mugen looked at her, puzzled, the back of the ronin's head disappearing from sight.

"I thought we could pack up," she said. "I know you're avoiding me, but we could still have this finished by the time Jin gets back."

He shrugged, and began to stow his things. "Not avoiding you. Just how things're working out."

She narrowed her eyes. "Really? So that's why you're not letting him out of your sight whenever you're around me?"

"'M not," he said, but without force behind his voice.

Fuu waited, knowing that sooner or later, that silence pouring over him was going to find a crack and start seeping through; the quiet would leave him thinking about whatever it was that had its teeth in his leg, and he'd start talking just to get those thoughts out. It was a little manipulative, but — he never had a problem about doing the same thing to her if he wanted information, she told herself. After all, hadn't she learned this from the two of them? She crouched and began scooping dirt into the firepit, making sure no live coals remained.

"Dammit," he muttered.

"Hm?" She kept her eyes on the ground, crumbling the brown loam between her fingers before scattering it carefully.

"Nothing." _Ooh_. He was trying hard — whatever was on his mind was something worth knowing.

She made a non-committal noise as she came to stand behind him, brushing the dirt from her hands. She put her hand out to his hair, smoothing the strands between her fingertips. He never did anything to it that she saw, but still it stayed amazingly free of snarls and knots; so, so unfair. She knew it was longer than he liked it, though.

"What're you doing?" He twisted around to look at her.

"I was wondering if you wanted me to cut your hair a little shorter, while we're waiting," she said, virtuously. "You keep running your hands through it like it was bothering you."

He grunted. "Maybe I was going to let it get real long, you think of that?"

"What, you want to be eight shaku tall? You'd look a little weird, but it's your hair." She kept combing her fingers through his hair, waiting.

Mugen sighed and handed her his tanto, shucking off his haori.

The sharp blade made a pleasant _scritch_ sound as it cut through the strands. She was careful not to pull his hair too tightly, just to keep it taut enough for the sharpness of the edge to do most of the work. The cuttings fell around her feet in an untidy pool as she worked; he relaxed a little, enough to allow her to turn his head so she could get at the unruly locks around his ears, but not as much as he normally did when she'd done this in the past. She moved to stand in front of him, leaning in as she snipped at the shaggy fringe. He'd closed his eyes, as was usual, but he'd stopped breathing, which wasn't. _Hm._

"What?"

"I didn't say anything," she told him, as she finished up. "Did you hear something?"

"Mmhrm."

Fuu wiped the tanto clean and set it aside, massaging the bumps and hollows of his skull — she was fluffing his hair to see if she'd missed any stray pieces, if he asked. He wouldn't, she knew; something about having his head rubbed _did_ something to him, turning him relaxed and contented as a big cat, to the point where she could have shaved him bald and he wouldn't have done anything more than smile at her. "Anyway, I think Jin can manage to wash himself without help," she said. "Unless you were going to ask if you could do his back?" She circled around him, looking critically at her work.

He made a rude noise, slumping against her hands as she moved her thumbs in circles behind his ears; much more of this, and she'd have a Ryukyuan puddle on the ground.

"I don't know that he'd let you," she continued. "I mean, you two are good friends these days, but still — "

She could feel the muscles in his neck move, as he swallowed. "Oi," he said, a little drunk on his massage. "Your dad."

Her father — ? She frowned, and kept silence in what she hoped was an encouraging manner.

"You're pissed off at him."

"Because he left us," she told him, confused. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Why, though? 'Cause you missed him?"

She blew out a breath she hadn't been aware she was holding, her hands stilled on his shoulders. "I was too little when he left. I didn't remember enough about him to _miss_ him all that much. He just — things got worse for us after he was gone."

Mugen nodded. "He should've been there." His voice was flat, expressionless.

"We managed," she said, and changed the subject. "I think your hair looks even. It's shorter, anyway."

He stood, running his hands through his hair. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Fuu brushed loose hair off his back, her fingers slipping over his skin. The texture was intoxicating, the strangest mixture of soft over unyielding muscle and bone; she flattened her palms between his shoulder blades, sliding them toward his waist almost unthinkingly —

He turned and caught her hands in his, pulling them away slowly. "Don't," he told her. He let go, stepping away from her as he slid the haori back on.

Well, _she _felt stupid. "What is _wrong_ with you?" she snapped. "You're — " _What,_ she asked herself. _Being responsible while I'm groping you?_ _Nice going, Fuu_.

He hadn't gone far, she noticed, even if he was still very pointedly acting as if she wasn't there —

Frustrated, she reached out and smacked him in the arm.

"_Ow_!" He whipped around to face her, rubbing the abused limb. "You little bitch! What'd you do that for, goddammit?"

That was a little better, she decided. Not a lot, unfortunately. It was really too bad she hadn't the faintest idea of what she was going to say to him. "Why are you acting like this?" she blurted out.

He glared at her, those sky-colored eyes angry. "Like _what_? I don't know what the hell crawled into your head, but it needs to crawl back out. That shit's a bad idea."

_What the — where did he get off, lecturing her? _"You're being a jerk!"

"Oh? You're being a brat."

_Oooh — _Furious, she stood in front of him and poked his stomach with her finger, her temper getting the best of her. "Don't you _dare_ walk away from me when I'm talking to you," she told him, punctuating her words with sharp little jabs."I want to know why you two're treating me like I'm going to run off if there isn't someone with me all the time. I want to know what you know that I don't, and don't try telling me there isn't something, because I know better than that. And I _really_ want to know why _you_ aren't talking to _me_."

Mugen opened his mouth, and closed it again, looking very dissatisfied.

"Well?" She folded her arms over her chest.

"This is so stupid," he muttered. "Look. You ever think maybe you're the one keeping us in the dark?"

She frowned at him. Had they been into the mushrooms again when she wasn't looking?

He bent slightly, those eyes looking intently into hers. "I know damn well you're not telling us everything, Fuu," he said softly. "You're honest with me, I'm honest with you."

"What am I _not_ being honest with you about?"

His mouth set in an exasperated line. "For one, I don't know what's going on between you and Jin, but it's a distraction. There's too much shit in his head already — we need him sharp."

Now, it was _her_ turn to be speechless, filled with resentment that his opinion of them was so low as to think they'd allow themselves to be distracted, as well as a fiercely sweet joy at the thought that it was possible she _could_ affect the ronin that way. "I — " she said, and stopped. She'd been ready enough to be distracted by Mugen just then, however, she realized and felt immediately disloyal to Jin. Which — she sat down abruptly.

He sat, as well, apparently not finished with what he had to tell her. "Yeah."

"Nothing's going on," she said; whether for her benefit or his, she wasn't sure.

He grunted disbelievingly. "Right, whatever. Like there was nothing happening just now?"

She closed her eyes. "Sometimes I'm not sure I even like you all that much," she told him.

"Hey." Mugen reached over and tapped his fingertips against her arm; she looked at him. "I'm not telling you that it's bad. Definitely not telling you that I — " He paused, thinking, before he said, " — wouldn't. But I can't; that's different than won't."

_What_ — "I don't understand," she told him. "Why?"

He exhaled loudly. "Because I can't. I did enough to you already, all right?"

"You haven't done anything to me. What are you talking about?"

"Let it go, Fuu," he warned. Everything about him told her of his reluctance; he sat, crouched into an uncomfortable ball with his hands knotted together and resting on his knees, his breathing shallow. His unhappy eyes were fixed on her warily, as if he expected her to attack him.

"No," she said, hands balled into fists on her lap. "If you think you did something, I want to know. I'm sick of being blindsided by things you two don't tell me because you have some stupid idea you need to protect me. I'm not as weak as you think I am."

"Fuu — "

"So I'm asking you: Mugen, what do you think you did to me?" She kept her voice even with an effort.

There was the courteous snap of twigs underfoot, as Jin announced his return from the river and walked up to them quietly. He'd heard the last few words they'd said to each other, she knew, and she hadn't missed the peculiar look of _gratitude_ the Ryukyuan had given the ronin, as if — well, she wasn't sure what Mugen would be grateful to Jin for, but the idea made her even more uneasy.

"What is it?" the ronin asked. His skin looked faintly damp still, and any other time she would have been distracted by the few dark strands tangled into the tie that held his hair back, thinking on how she could make that shining river lie more neatly over his broad shoulders.

Not today, though.

"Jin, shut up," she said, a small part of her slapping its forehead in disbelief that those words would come out of her mouth. His eyes opened wide, then, but he obediently fell silent, dropping gracefully to the ground as he sat. "Mugen?"

The Ryukyuan's face was pinched, and for a moment she saw what he would look like as an old man. "In Motomachi," he said slowly. "Heard you when you were talking to the monk."

How funny — her chest was filling with hot broken glass, scraping against the sides, making it nearly impossible to breathe — she concentrated on keeping her chest rising and falling, his words lying over her like a skin of ice over water. "Oh." Her ribs pushed against the constraints of her obi, she'd never quite realized how hard it was to get air in — she was conscious of how they were sitting frozen in place; she stirred herself to ask the question she knew she'd want the answer to, eventually. "Both of you?"

"Yes," Jin told her.

"I see." She got to her feet carefully. They stood, awkwardly, the ronin's hand that wasn't resting on the katana at his hip curled loosely against his hakama. She didn't look to see where their eyes were — at that point, nothing could have made her look in their eyes, because what she knew was there would break her completely.

Tiredly, she concentrated on the path, raising her eyes for a second to make sure she was going toward Hiroshima, then focusing on the ground under her feet. She could hear them scrambling behind her, snatching up their packs and hurrying to catch up.

"Fuu — " She didn't need to turn to know the hand wrapped around her wrist was Jin's; she pulled free from his grasp hastily.

"Please _don't_," she told him. "I don't want either of you right now."

"Hn." He dropped back to walk with Mugen. They would only go so far from her and no farther, she knew.

Irrationally, she wondered how far she'd get if she started running.

* * *

It was going to be one of those nights she couldn't sleep, Fuu realized.

They weren't unfamiliar to her; sleepless nights came about as often as the nights where she did sleep, but wished she didn't. On the whole, going without sleep was a little better than the nightmares, as grotesque as they were.

Neither of them was sleeping, she knew. Mugen was lying too neatly on his mat, for one — when he slept, he sprawled out, arms and legs bent into seemingly impossible positions — and Jin was lying on the wrong side.

None of them had said much of anything all day, except for calling an infrequent short halt to rest, and choosing a place to make camp for the night.

Careful not to jar the broken glass inside her again, she rolled onto her back. The moon was thin this night, a curved willow leaf of light behind clouds rolling in — oh, rain would make her night _complete_, she decided. She still felt miserable, but the hours of quiet they'd given her let her settle the fractured pieces; she didn't want to talk yet, but their combined presence was soothing, as if by being there they could carry some of it for her.

It would have been better still to lie next to one of them, and let his warmth and the regular rise and fall of his chest teach her dreamless sleep again.

She blinked then as a familiar hand came to drape lightly over her ankle, the palm rough and calloused against her skin. If it had been another night, she would have thought Mugen was being restless in his sleep once again; he wasn't, she knew. The hand lay loosely enough that she could have moved and it would fall to the side, if she wanted.

She let it stay, closing her eyes as the comfort he gave seeped in. She didn't know if it would be enough, but she could _try_.

* * *

It was quiet the next morning, but at least today she could bear to look them in the eyes. It would be a couple days yet before she felt normal — it had happened before, when she'd come across something that would remind her. She'd needed almost a week that time in Kyoto, when a man with an eyepatch came in one night when she was still rolling dice; that had been right before she'd left for Kasumi. She was getting better, though. She could look at sunflowers now without feeling like she would be sick then and there, which was an enormous advance, she thought.

She found an apple tree as she came back from washing the sleep from her eyes, branches laden with rosy ripe fruit. She smiled; they both liked apples, she knew. She liked the idea of peace offerings, herself.

Jin looked up from the map as she emerged from the forest, his eyes curious as they moved over the sleeve she was using as a makeshift basket. "Fuu," he said.

"Morning." She held an apple out to him. "Hungry?"

"Yes, thank you," he told her, long fingers closing over the fruit. "Where did you find these?"

"There's a tree, not very far from here," she said, biting into hers. "I can't believe they're ripe already."

"Ah," he agreed. "How are you?"

She shrugged, as he began to eat. "I've had worse mornings."

The ronin nodded. "Mm."

"Where is he?"

"On his way here, I expect. He went into the forest not long after you did." Jin swallowed a last bite of apple, before taking the core she handed him and burying the remains of their meal neatly. "Fuu."

She looked up at his face, grave and pale in the thin sunlight.

"I — "

"Jin." She reached out to give his hand a squeeze. "It wasn't you." She could feel another pair of eyes on her, watching —

He gave her a troubled look, his fingers cool and strong in hers. "It should not have happened," he said.

She pressed his hand gently, before letting it fall and turning to the man behind her. "I have apples," she told him, as silently Jin bent to roll up his sleeping mat.

"You do, huh?" Mugen kept his hands stuck firmly in his pockets.

"I do." Fuu tossed a piece of the fruit at him; he caught it reflexively. "See? Not completely helpless." She regretted the words as soon as they came out, his face clouding over; she'd sounded —

"Yeah."

"Mugen," she said. "It's all right."

He looked at her, his face wary and unhappy both. "It's _not_. How is it all right?"

"You came for me," she told him, sitting on the ground. "Both of you're here."

The Ryukyuan sat next to her, his teeth sinking into the red peel as he thought. "It was my fault," he said. "They wouldn't have done anything to you if it wasn't for me."

She gave him a look and reached over to flick him in the forehead, causing him to spray apple on the ground in front of him in his surprise. "No, it's not your fault. It's _their_ fault. Why are you even saying that?" she said. "And don't even think about arguing with me. I was there, remember?" Her mouth curved surprisingly into a smile as he watched — a grim smile, but a smile for all that.

He made a small noise that she took as a 'yeah, but — '.

"Some days are good," she told him. "Other ones aren't. As far as I know, everyone lives like that. So, if I can manage, you think you can?" She bumped him with her shoulder. "Unless you're fine with me being much tougher than you are."

He stopped chewing and swallowed, watching her silently as Jin listened from the other side of the firepit.

"All right," she said and shrugged. "You're taking it very well, though, being beaten by a _girl_."

His mouth quirked, despite his best effort. "Dumb broad," he said at last, looking at her affectionately. "You really are."

She grinned back at him and stuck out her tongue.


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: I don't own _Samurai Champloo _or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Neither do I own the haiku of Matsuo Basho (translation by R.H. Blyth, this chapter).

A/N: Oh, the halfway mark! Only another eighteen chapters to go, unless the characters start exploding from ze UST. I'm celebrating by adding some original characters (the plot demanded them, honest to Pete), and twisty plot; also, one of the OCs does something a bit interesting. All will be explained, I promise.

Bizen is notable for its beautiful pottery (v. suitable for use with sake!) and finely worked swords.

And I love all my readers, full stop; you're _amazing_. My gratitude to you, kids.

* * *

_**Nenju**_

_XVIII. The cuckoo cries_

* * *

Mugen paused to wipe the sweat away from his eyes before bending over the ronin once again. "You know, it feels weird to do this while you're watching," he called out. "You have some kind of thing for watching two guys get it on?"

Fuu threw a small clump of dirt at him. "You know, if I had a ryu for every time I've seen you two fighting, I'd be a rich woman." She had found a comfortable hollow in the grass, sitting contentedly with her knees drawn up under her chin.

"What're you talking about? You _got_ a ryu for every time you've seen us fighting."

"Oh, yeah."

"'Get it on'?" Jin repeated, taking the Ryukyuan's outstretched hand to pull himself off the ground. "A martial art is your idea of courtship?"

"Maybe. Depends on the woman," Mugen said thoughtfully. _Yatsuha probably would be into that, and then there was that broad down by the docks when I first got here_ — he smiled to himself.

Fuu looked vaguely alarmed, as Jin frowned. "Ah," the ronin said, slowly. "I see."

"How long before we get to Hiroshima?" Mugen stretched his arms back, easing the slight soreness that had come after the other man had shown him (with more enthusiasm than had been _absolutely_ necessary, he thought) that throw he'd learned at that freaky dojo of his. The shoulder joint cracked satisfyingly, and he let his arms fall loose to his sides with a grunt of pleasure.

"Two or three days, at most. We're almost in Bizen already. Why?" Jin asked.

The Ryukyuan shrugged. "Like to see Bundai," he said. "Doubt it'll take long. Stupid bastard's probably dead by now anyway, the way he drank."

* * *

They stopped for steamed tofu buns, instead of fish, at a place by the side of the road that sold sake as well as food that could be eaten at some tables outside; Mugen had suggested fish and been overruled — if he hadn't known better, he'd have thought they didn't _like_ fish. Ridiculous idea, he knew.

The man who was clearing tables looked up as they were served, eyes widening as he caught sight of the katana at Jin's hip. He went up to the cook, as Mugen watched; the two men bore a resemblance to each other, and he wondered if they were brothers. The cook looked over at them as the Ryukyuan ate his bun — the two men were talking, the cook shaking his head as the busboy walked back to the table he'd been clearing.

Mugen kept an eye on him. The last thing they needed was trouble, which sort of put him in the mood for it. Still . . . maybe the guy liked samurai, or swords; who knew?

The man finished stacking bowls on his tray; casually, he sketched an arc in the dirt with his foot as he puttered with cups, giving them an expectant look.

The Ryukyuan poked Jin, and pointed at the dirt. The ronin raised his eyebrows, as Fuu craned her neck to see around Mugen.

The man frowned; this, apparently, was not what he'd been expecting. He traced another arc in the dirt and looked up at them, giving them an encouraging smile as he stepped back.

Mugen exchanged a glance with Jin. _What the hell is that about?_

The ronin quirked an elegant eyebrow at him. _Don't ask me._

The Ryukyuan sighed. Keeping tabs on the man out of the corner of his eye, Mugen leaned back on the bench and stretched his leg out in front of him; the man looked at him, and gave him a pleased nod — yes, yes, go on! That's it! — as the toe of Mugen's geta dug into the dirt.

The encouraging smile slipped from the man's face as Mugen drew an identical arc next to the bench with his geta, a small distance away from the man's lines.

Both Fuu and Jin had dropped any pretense of doing anything except watching the exchange between Mugen and the man who had been bussing tables. The man had abandoned his job as well and stood, thinking, over the curved lines he had drawn in the dirt; he looked searchingly at the ronin, before making his decision. Scuffing the lines in the dirt away with his foot, the man approached their table. "You're here from Seizo, aren't you?" he murmured.

* * *

The quiet man brought them to a small house flanked by a pair of maple trees, not far from the sake stand. It was obviously someone's home; the building looked well cared for, with a neat vegetable garden that lay a few steps to the south, bathed in late afternoon sun. Mugen could imagine few places that looked _less_ like an outpost of the shogunate, but kept his fingers resting lightly against the hilt of the longsword. Jin's hands were loose and relaxed at his sides, but there was no missing the look of appraisal in his eyes — the Ryukyuan gave a barely audible grunt and the ronin nodded once.

Fuu ignored them both, following the man who went into the house; they trailed in after her.

The dim room was as plain inside as Kasumi Seizo's house had been. There was a little chest that stood to one side, a table, and assorted bits and pieces that the Ryukyuan recognized as used for cookery; more importantly, the room had no back door. Jin hn-ed, low in his throat, and he knew the ronin had seen that too. There was a pair of windows that they _could_ make work, if they needed to get out quick . . .

He turned his attention to the rather stocky figure of a woman that had risen to her feet as they came in. She looked at them with interest, as the man went to her, saying, "Mother — "

The woman looked at her son, amusement in her face, as Mugen's eyes adjusted to the room's level of light; her hair was iron-gray, pulled into an uncompromising knot, and as she turned to look at her son, the Ryukyuan saw the delicate webbing of wrinkles around her eyes. "Sometimes, I wish you could be more like your brother," the woman told her son. "_He_ never brings me fugitives. You couldn't find some nice chrysanthemums?"

_What the f—_ The tip of the longsword was at the old woman's throat, before the sibilant noise it made as it was drawn from the scabbard reached their ears; movement at the corner of his eye told him the ronin had the son — there was a wasp's nest of questions in his head, and Mugen was feeling less than patient. "The hell's going on here?"

The woman was remarkably calm, considering a thin trickle of blood was seeping from her skin where the point had scratched her; she studied Mugen a moment, before saying, "You'll be missed — go back to work, Matthew. I'll stay here with our guests."

The man drew in a breath, his eyes wide —

"I'll be fine. Go," she told him.

Reluctantly, the man left. Jin sheathed the katana, as Fuu made a questioning noise — the ronin put his hand out to touch the girl's arm, and she subsided; she was unhappy, but kept quiet. _Good girl_, Mugen thought.

"Gonna ask you again," he told the woman. "What the hell is going on? 'M not gonna ask you a third time."

The look the woman gave him could have shriveled the balls off a _corpse_, he decided. "It should be obvious," she said. "My son thought you might be Christians, too."

Mugen jerked in surprise, as he heard a very strange sound that he realized was the ronin choking — "_What_? Look, I'm not letting some broad trick me," he bit out. "Tell me why I shouldn't kill you right now."

The woman laughed. "Do what you like," she said. "My husband was beheaded at Shimabara. I was his wife for three years, and his widow for forty-two. Please — sit, all of you. I'm developing a pain in my neck from looking up at you." She gestured at the neatly swept floor, as Fuu sat obediently. Jin followed suit, prudently facing the door and laying his swords at his side.

"Better," the woman said, with satisfaction. "Now. My name is Maria, not 'some broad'; you've met Matthew. I believe I know who you are, or who you must be." Her eyes went to Fuu. "I knew your father, I think. Your eyes look like his."

Slowly, Mugen drew the longsword away but kept it ready, the weight a comfort to his hand.

"You knew my father?" The girl's voice was unfaltering.

The woman nodded. "Kasumi Seizo. A good man — many flaws, but he meant well."

"A man may mean well, but still do wrong," Jin said, joining the tense conversation at last. "You are taking a risk in telling us who you are." He looked up at Mugen, then flicked a glance toward the floor: _sit. _

Mugen put the longsword back in its scabbard — he figured he could take the old woman easy, if she tried anything — but remained standing, folding his arms over his chest. He raised an eyebrow at the ronin: _not gonna happen, fish face. _

Another glance at the floor: _sit._

The Ryukyuan let a smile ghost across his face. _Nuh-uh._

The ronin's eyebrows twitched. _You are willing to show the extent of your poor manners with a pointless squabble? Please attempt to rein in your foolish behavior._

Mugen frowned. _What the hell did you just say?_

Jin gave a slight roll of his eyes and let his hand rest unobtrusively near the mismatched daisho that lay on the floor. _Sit_.

Mugen grinned, gently rocking back on his heels.

Fuu lifted her eyes from the old woman's face, her mouth thinning as she took in the two men; she gave them The Look.

The Ryukyuan grunted as he sat next to the ronin, sticking a finger up his nose to emphasize to the girl he was sitting only because _he_ felt like it.

She rolled _her_ eyes and looked back at Maria.

The old woman had continued talking, as if she had noticed nothing between the two men. "— not so fortunate as we were."

"My apologies, Maria-sama," the ronin said. "We are — meeting someone who knew Kasumi Seizo is very surprising to us."

She pursed her mouth. "I was baptized Maria, not Maria-sama, young man. I'm no fine lady," she told him, but softened her words with a smile. "You're well-mannered, at least. Your mother must be proud."

"No."

Maria gave him a strange look, but left it at that. "I know that katana," she told him instead, and turned to Fuu, who sat watching her intently. "Matthew saw it, that's how he knew who you must be. Your father carried it. I remember it very well."

"Please, what can you tell me about him?" the girl asked. "I'm sorry, I — he's dead."

"I am, too." The woman looked down a moment before beginning, the knot of hair at the nape of her neck bobbing gently. "When did he die?"

"About three years ago."

"Did he die well?"

Mugen's eyes went from the wall to Fuu, whose hands were curled loosely on her thighs, her face steady. "Yes." She wasn't giving anything away, he realized with a rush of approval.

Maria nodded. "You must be careful. They're looking for you."

"I know," the girl said.

The old woman looked up fiercely, her eyes resting on the men. "Do they?"

"Better than I do," Fuu told her. "Please. We've come a long way."

"Hm. It was when we were living in a Christian settlement outside Nagasaki — a little place, an island one of the men knew; he said we wouldn't be bothered by the government there, we would be far enough away that no one would know about us. And for a while, he was right. No one bothered us — we kept to ourselves, so no one guessed we were anything other than a fishing village. We even built a church." She paused, smiling. "I wouldn't be surprised if it was still standing — we built it to be _strong_."

Fuu shook her head. "It's gone," she said only.

"Ah," Maria said. "Shame. Appropriate, though, considering what happened. We thought we knew what was going on in the rest of the world; there were always other Christians who came to us on Ikitsuki, who told us what was happening. Your father was one of them — he arrived a couple years after the shogun ordered the daimyo to appoint inquisitors to find us.

"Very capable man, your father. Handsome, too." She smiled at Jin. "Not unlike you, young man. It wasn't long before Seizo organized us much better than we had been — that's what saved us, really. As good as he was, he couldn't stop us from becoming complacent. We sinned in our pride, thinking that we were hidden too well for the shogun's men to find us; we were hidden just well enough that it took them years to find us, rather than months.

"They set on us at night, without warning. They fired the buildings first, and their archers picked us off as we tried to escape. I remember Seizo was shouting, trying to get us down to the beach — it was rocky enough down there that we could hide, but there were so many of them." She shook her head. "I got out with my sons, and we made our way here to the mountains. We never saw him again."

Mugen frowned. Something sounded — her story was _off_, somehow. He couldn't put his finger on it —

"You're traveling?" the woman asked, briskly.

Fuu opened her mouth, but was cut off. "Yes," Jin said. "We are."

"I see. My sons will be home soon; it's late — please. My house is yours. I would be very happy if you would stay here."

"That is very kind," the ronin told her firmly. "Unfortunately, we've already made arrangements."

"You'll need to eat this evening, why not stay for dinner?" Maria insisted. "Please. I can't let Seizo's daughter go on a journey without a good meal."

Jin hesitated briefly, then nodded. "Thank you, we will. If you'll excuse us . . . ? We're unfamiliar with the area, and I would like to find the way to our inn from here in daylight."

She smiled broadly. "Of course."

Mugen cocked an eyebrow, as the ronin hurried them through their goodbyes and promises to return, herding them out the door as quickly as he could without causing offense to the woman behind them. When they were out of earshot, he dropped back beside Jin, Fuu walking slightly ahead where they could keep her in view; if she was far enough ahead that he could look at her ass, it was only a side benefit, he told himself as they followed.

"Want to tell me what _that_ was all about?" he murmured.

The ronin frowned. "That story bothers me," he said.

"Yeah."

"That escape in particular. How did they manage to get past archers?" Jin shook his head. "I don't like this."

"So why are we going back there? Why aren't we just getting out?"

"We aren't," the ronin said. "_I'm_ going back there with Fuu, you're not."

He — _what_? Mugen sputtered. "Fuck _no_, asshole! There's no way in hell you're doing that!"

The other man gave him a look. "What do you object to, in particular? Missing a meal with a group of people who may wish you harm, or missing a meal with an old woman who will demand Fuu's attention the whole time?"

_Fucking ronin fish face bastard _— "Yes?" Mugen offered.

Jin's eyebrow twitched. "Bundai spent a great deal of time on logic, I see."

"Yeah, and you had lessons in stick-up-my-ass at that stupid dojo. 'S your point here?"

"My _point_ is that if two of us go, there's another in reserve if something goes wrong," Jin said patiently. "Fuu has to be one of the two; it would be suspicious if she wasn't, as in theory at least she's the reason we were asked. I should be the second, because I want to see these sons for myself and hear their version of the story."

"_I_ could do that."

"I'm also the only one of the two of us who has not drawn a sword on the old woman."

" . . . fine. So what am I supposed to be doing? You've figured everything else out," Mugen said, lacing his voice with as much sarcasm as he could muster. "Since you're cutting my _nuts_ off and all. Flower arranging lessons? Tea ceremony?"

The ronin paused, wincing. "No," he said slowly, obviously fighting off the mental image of the Ryukyuan with a vase of blossoms. "I think you need a drink."

Mugen stumbled. Jin had — what, now?

* * *

He leaned his elbows on the table. The rough wood prickled against his skin, a pleasant counterpoint to the burn as the sake went down. "Just passing through, huh?"

"Yeah. Just passing through," she said, pouring him a refill. "How about you?"

Mugen gave her a lazy smile, shrugging. "Heard some about this town, thought I'd see it for myself. Funny coincidence that it happened to be when you were on your way through."

"Small world." She drank her sake like Fuu, both hands wrapped around the cup, but there the similarities ended. Yatsuha sat, relaxed, looking at him confidently; the half-formed thought that it would be a strange man who felt the need to protect the shogun's soldier bobbed to the surface of his mind, and he dismissed it out of hand.

It wasn't the desire to protect her that worried Mugen when he was around her; it was another desire entirely. He drained his cup again. "You still kick a guy's ass for him?" he asked.

She looked speculatively at him over her drink, then smiled. "You weren't the last."

He raised his eyebrows and shifted in his seat. "You had to trick me to do it."

"Far as I know, there aren't any rules, and tricking you worked," she said. "Actually, it worked _twice_."

She had a point, he admitted — Mugen smiled back at her, resolutely squashing that part of his mind that complained at the unfairness ("How'm I supposed to turn down seeing a naked woman? She's _naked_!"); he wanted information, not to set Yatsuha straight about whether she had kicked his ass.

* * *

"We'll make camp outside of town," Jin decided. "We shouldn't take the chance of being boxed in."

"Yeah, all right," Mugen agreed. "Go back a little bit, though, to where I need a drink."

"Hn." The ronin folded his hands into his sleeves. "If you want advice on fishing, ask a fisherman."

"What? No, you said _drinking_. Not fishing," the Ryukyuan said, receiving a frown for his question.

"If you want to know about the shogun's men . . . "

"Ask one of them?" Mugen shrugged. "Fine, I get that. But — _ah_," he said, suddenly understanding.

"Ah." Jin nodded. "Find out more. Even better if you can distract the shogun's men. We need information we don't have — learn something we don't know already."His mouth twitched, in what for him was an enormous grin. "It's Bizen, after all. It would be odd if you didn't try the sake."

Mugen snickered.

"Hn?"

"Nothing. Just thinkin' — we send you to the sake stand, only thing anyone'd learn would be what you look like when you're asleep."

"You _are_ aware that you aren't funny?"

* * *

"Right," he told her. "It wasn't twice, and that last was a lucky shot."

Yatsuha laughed. "I have to remember that naked women are your weak point."

He grinned and poured her another. If even Jin thought he should be drinking — "Give any more thought to when you're keeping your promise?" he asked idly.

She leaned closer. "Is that an offer?"

"I don't know. You tell me." He leaned back — and almost catapulted off his seat, when a smooth leg brushed against his.

"Maybe it is," she said.

He took a deep breath; well, that certainly fit into the distraction part of the drinking, he thought.


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: I don't own _Samurai Champloo _or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Neither do I own the haiku of Matsuo Basho (translation by R.H. Blyth, this chapter).

A/N: Additional writing credits for this chapter should be given to Yoko Kanno, who makes some crazy fine earworms; and to everyone who's read thus far. I think you knew this chapter was coming, yeah?

WARNING: Graphic violence. And, holy moo, the fluff!

* * *

_**Nenju**_

_XIX. Ah, summer grasses!_

* * *

She let her fingers twine into the warm cloth of his sleeve. The strangeness of Mugen not walking ahead of them aside, it felt so weirdly _normal_ to be walking with him. They could have been any man and woman, she thought; any of a thousand, ten thousand people, thinking about things like replacing the wobbly leg on that old brazier or what was eating the blossoms on the kabocha plants in the vegetable garden back home. Home —

"You ever wonder about what you'd be doing now if things had been different?" Fuu asked, regretting the question the moment it hung in the air between them.

"Hm?" Jin turned his head toward her, his hair swinging heavily between his shoulders. "How do you mean?"

"If nothing had happened at the dojo, I suppose. Would you still be there?"

"I don't know," he said. "The Mujuu — the first time I fought him, he said it would have been his by then if I hadn't killed Mariya-dono."

She frowned; that man from the island. "But how does that — your master would have _given_ it to him?"

Something flickered in his face and was gone. "No," he said simply.

_Oh._ She tightened her grasp on the cloth.

He walked along calmly, the same unhurried pace as before, but his hands had come out of his sleeves. "You?" he asked.

"Me?"

"What would you be doing?" He glanced down at her from the corner of his eye. "You did ask me."

She wrinkled her nose. "It's stupid," she warned.

His mouth gave a twitch. "We're on a journey," he reminded her, "with a man who wanted to use acorns as money. You can do worse, you think?"

Fuu giggled. "He did, didn't he? And he was _serious_."

"Mm," he agreed.

"It's — I was thinking about how many other people were doing something like this, going to someone's house. It's so normal, you know? It just feels a little _strange_. We don't do normal stuff like this — people trying to kill us, pirates sinking ships, we do those kinds of things."

Jin cocked his head to one side, interested. "You prefer pirates?"

"No!" she said, a tide of crimson flooding her face, as his face took on a faint air of amusement. _Err — wait. _"I mean, it's sort of funny, don't you think?"

"If it makes you feel better, I don't trust Maria and her sons not to want to kill us."

" . . . it doesn't, actually." She frowned.

"Ah. Normal," he prompted, hands slipping back into the sleeves.

Fuu shrugged. "Before my mother started to feel — my mother was thinking about arranging a marriage for me. With my father gone, there weren't a lot — did your master — I mean, did anyone ever, ah — " she trailed off incoherently.

"Was a marriage ever arranged for me?" he asked. "Not that I'm aware of, no. Mariya-dono mentioned it once, but I don't think anything ever came of it. He wasn't, himself, so he may not have thought it was important."

"I don't think I'll ever be married," she said. "I just — who'd have me?"

"Fuu — "

"I was a brothel girl, and before that, there was the sunflower field," she told him bleakly. "I have no parents, and people I don't even know want to kill me, and I'm old and I'm going to get really ugly with, I don't know, big warts on my face and then I'll die and my corpse will be eaten by dogs — "

"Fuu, you are neither ugly nor old," he said, strongly. "And the sunflower field, and your parents — none of that is your fault. You would make _any_ man happy. What about the p — ashigaru in Kyoto?"

She laughed. "It's different for women, you know it is. We aren't supposed to — I never could've married Toku without telling him, and he never would've wanted to marry me if he'd known."

"Then he would have been a fool," the ronin told her.

"Aren't they all?" The words were out, before she could catch them; she winced, as he came to a halt so abrupt that she nearly collided with his elbow. _Oh, hey,_ she thought. _This conversation _can_ get more awkward! Huh. How about that._ _Maybe if I climbed that tree, I could just live up there and I'd never see Jin giving me _that_ look that — _

"No," he said. "I am not." His eyes were speculative, filled with something she felt like she should recognize but didn't, as she let his sleeve fall from her grasp.

She stopped breathing; then drew in air, deep and deliberate, to quiet the wild drumming of her heart, as if she'd been running, as if demons were at her heels —

Those long fingers came up to cradle her head, his thumbs resting gently over the arch of her cheekbones. _Oh — _her breath tangled inside her throat as his lips brushed over her brow, pulled back; his voice was a low rumble she felt in her toes, in her belly. "Would you tell me if you don't want this?"

"Jin — " She could smell him, the warm salt of his skin; would he taste salty, she wondered, as those expressive fingers laced into her hair. He bent slightly, resting his forehead softly against hers as his dark eyes looked at her intently.

"Because it would be better to tell me now," he said. "May I?"

She swallowed, lifted her face. "Please," she told him. Fuu heard a harsh triumphant breath, as something caught inside his eyes and lips slid cool and smooth over her mouth, before — _oh_, she thought. _Oh_.

The feel of his mouth on hers was revelation — the man she had thought she knew running through her fingers like water as she _saw_ him, the man he really was — the dark, ravenous hunger at the heart of him flowing together under her hands as she understood. _I know you_, she wanted to tell him, _I know what you are_.

He was holding her too carefully, as if she would shatter; she made a small, dissatisfied noise and he froze, until her hand came round to grip at his back, pulling him in. Still not close enough: she opened her mouth to draw in his surprisingly soft lower lip as his fingers tightened on her skin, his mouth unfolding against hers in fire and sweetness and he tasted like nothing she'd ever known, better than honey, better than anything — she took hold of that silky, ink-colored hair as if she were drowning.

Long fingers swept down from her face to stroke down, down over her back, trailing over her spine and the swell of her bottom to pull her leg up to curve round his hip; she obeyed the silent demand of hands and mouth, the cloth of her kimono rucking up around her thighs as he lifted her, his hands clutching over cloth and bare skin, her ankles locking around his waist.

They slid across each other deliciously, as he carried her up to the tree she'd thought about living in moments ago (hazily, she thought that still sounded like an excellent idea, but only if she could bring him with her) and pressed up against it, leaning her back against the trunk so that her face was level with his. Unsure, she let her leg fall over his hip toward the ground — was she too heavy? — and he grunted in disapproval before she felt his strong fingers pulling her thigh back up around his waist, ghosting delicately over her bare skin.

Distantly, she recognized how careful, how gentle he was being, how much choice he was giving her, and how little she wanted that right now. She arched her back, rolling her hips against him, and was rewarded with a small strained sound that he muffled against her mouth; she grinned to herself, before he pushed closer and _kissed_ her — the bottom fell out of the world and the only thing that was left was the sweet clear taste of him, the feel of his teeth under her tongue, the press of —

Oh. _Well. _

That . . . was not his hip.

She pushed against his chest with the heel of her hand and he stopped, her panting loud in her own ears as he stared at her, his eyes dark and wild. He saw something there, she knew, because he let her legs slip to the ground — she whined, low in her throat, as she slid over him; he closed his eyes at the sound — and pressed his forehead into the tree trunk over her head. "Jin — " She moved to the side, hands trembling as she straightened her clothing.

"I need a moment," he said to the tree, before his eyes flicked sideways to her.

"Oh. Sorry?"

"No, it — mm." He was bent slightly at the waist, Fuu saw, his hands propped on his thighs. She bit back a pleased smile, which she doubted he would appreciate. Finally, he straightened up and she realized most of his hair had worked loose, hanging over his back in the most — she counted to thirty inside her head before she trusted herself not to try to gnaw through the ties of his hakama, which would have the potential for making things very weird around the campfire later that night. It would be weird enough already, she admitted to herself. Now what the hell was she going to do about Mugen?

She ruthlessly squashed the little voice that pointed out the Ryukyuan hadn't shown so much as a flicker of interest since Motomachi; she could think about that later. _Much_ later. "Uh," she began awkwardly. "So!"

Jin nodded, kimono falling away from his forearms as he tied his hair back, filling her head with thoughts that involved licking the hollow under his ear. "Hn," he agreed; it was so perfectly him that her giggle bubbled up unstoppably. He lifted an eyebrow in inquiry — the eyebrow! — which only made her laugh harder.

"Sorry," she gasped out. "But . . . that . . . 'hn'?"

His mouth quirked slightly. "Ah?" he offered.

Grinning, Fuu shook her head. "Mou, I don't even get a full word?" She reached behind her to brush bits of tree off her backside. He gave her a real smile then, her breath catching as he reached to pick stubborn pieces of bark off her kimono; solemn, he was unbelievably handsome, but _smiling _— "You're beautiful," she told him, her fingers coming up to trace along his mouth.

He frowned. "What?"

"You are," she insisted, stroking the line of his jaw, as his hand came up to catch hers, pull it away.

"I can be beautiful later," he said. "Maria is expecting us now, however." His fingers gave hers a light squeeze and let them fall.

"Yeah." Her voice was unenthusiastic in her own ears; he smiled again at her, gloriously.

"Then we should talk," he said. She nodded, as his fingers came up to stroke her hip; her eyes lidded with inarticulate pleasure.

* * *

This time, it was the cook from the little stand who opened the door to them, his eyebrows rising as he took in their appearance; she blushed, feeling the tips of her ears burn as she went in. They'd tidied themselves as best they could, but it was one thing to walk through the trees with Jin, and another to sit through a meal with other people as the ronin lifted a cup to _that_ mouth — surreptitiously, she fanned herself. Stupid, hot little house.

Maria looked up as they came in, her face brightening. "Seizo's daughter! And her — " she paused.

"Please, Jin will do," the ronin told her.

"Ah, compassion. Always welcome in a Christian house," she told him, as the cook came in behind them. "My son, Erasmus."

"Daigoro," the man corrected. "My mother and brother are Christians. I'm not."

Fuu smiled brightly over the sudden discomfort in the room, as the ronin nodded politely. The tree was sounding more and more like the better idea, she decided.

* * *

"You and your brother escaped from Ikitsuki, I believe?" Jin asked, setting down his cup.

Erasmus-Daigoro grunted. "Yeah."

"May I ask how you managed? I've heard the shogun's archers are excellent," the ronin asked, as Fuu sighed. It was heavy weather, attempting to make conversation with the cook, who seemed determined to ruin the evening that his mother seemed just as determined to enjoy; the younger brother spoke rarely, and Fuu decided she could hardly blame him. Who'd _want_ to talk to a brother like that?

Her eyes went again to Jin, lingering on the clean line of his throat; he looked away from Daigoro-Erasmus — now in the middle of what sounded like a bout of wild boasting — for a moment, catching her as she watched him. His mouth twitched in a brief smile as she blushed furiously and dropped her eyes to her lap.

When she looked up again, Maria was wrinkling her nose in amusement and patted her hand. "It's like that, is it?" the old woman said. "I remember when I met my husband, I couldn't say a word to him, I was so nervous. You'll get over it, don't worry."

_Eep!_ The little voice inside Fuu wibbled directly into a wall and was knocked out cold, while she was busy gaping at Maria. "Wha — no! It's not — because — err — no," she stammered.

The old woman gave her a skeptical look. "If you're sure," she said. "He has lovely manners, and if he ever smiled — "

"Really? I've never seen that, so — "

Maria leaned close. "Was Seizo ever able to meet him?"

Fuu's eyes went wide. "Ah, no."

"Shame. He would have liked him."

" . . . " Fuu snapped her mouth shut, before Jin could look over and wonder why she was suddenly pretending to be a trout. She could do this, it was only a few questions, and Maria meant well, she was sure —

"Have you met _his_ parents?"

— even if the idea of being captured by the shogun's men was beginning to sound better and better in comparison to be interrogated by an old woman on her love life. She eyed Erasmus-Daigoro; perhaps she and the ronin could switch?

* * *

She breathed a huge sigh of relief as soon as the lantern light of the little house faded behind them. "Thank you for a really awful evening," she told him, taking hold of his sleeve. "I really don't know how you're going to top that. Maybe if you poked me a few times with your wakizashi? Flesh wound - yes, that should do it."

He gave a quiet snort; the moon was bright enough that she could see the path easily, let alone the way his eyes crinkled at the corners.

"Did you just _laugh_?" she asked, her mouth starting to curve upward into a smile. "Because, _not_ funny. You got the jerk, I got stuck with the old lady who likes me. How was that fair?"

"No," he said calmly. "But it was — what did she say? You were doing the most extraordinary things with your face, and I was distracted."

"Nothing, really — distracted? Are you sure? I don't remember that happening."

"Hm." He slowed his steps, his arm moving more than usual inside the sleeve she held. "Distracted. What do you remember?"

_Ah_. "Is this the talk?" she asked, as he came to a stop.

Jin nodded, his skin luminous under the moon. "We should discuss what happened."

" . . . um. Probably." Her hands were trembling, she noticed; she let go of the cloth, and folded her arms across her chest.

He studied her a moment before saying, "You're nervous."

Fuu gave him a look. "Of course I'm nervous!" she burst out. "I don't know what this is — I'm not even sure what I'm doing, I've hardly ever done this kind of thing before. And I don't know what you're doing, because since when is this something you think of doing with me? You probably don't even — "

"Fuu." Jin rested his hand on her shoulder. "You talk too much, and I understand only about half of what you say. But it makes you Fuu. Do you understand?"

"No," she told him. "And I think you're in a lot of — I talk too much?" She pursed her lips unhappily.

"All right." His hand moved up her shoulder, coming to rest on the back of her neck where his thumb lightly soothed small arcs into the tender skin there. "I don't know what this is, either, but I would like to find out. What do you want?"

She made a small noise he took as agreement, her fingers going loose and boneless from the neck rub, as she leaned into his hand and closed her eyes. He made that quiet snort again (really, she thought, that sound _had_ to be a laugh) and kissed her forehead.

He tucked her under his chin, as she burrowed closer to him sleepily. Too much good food, she decided, and mm, warm — "'Hardly'?" he asked.

"Mm?"

"You said 'hardly'."

"Oh." _Shit,_ she thought helpfully. _Err — _"Yes?" She closed her eyes again.

"Hey." He bumped her with his actual hip, this time; she knew he could wait all night, if need be —

"Mugen," she muttered into his chest. "'S all right, he didn't — "

Oh, that _wasn't_ the laugh snort; that was the — ooh. This wouldn't be good, would it?

* * *

Grimly, she hurried after him, cursing the shortness of her legs and the utter impractical nature of kimono for pursuit. He wore hakama and was much taller — of _course_ he'd outpace her, she grumbled to herself; Jin was a reasonable man, Mugen wouldn't come to harm.

Probably.

Just in case, she hitched the skirt of her kimono up over her knees and _ran_.

She skidded to a stop just within sight of the clearing they'd chosen; the Ryukyuan was already sprawled out on his sleeping mat, curled toward the well-banked fire and yawning as Jin stood over him — she covered her mouth. Oh, this couldn't be good.

"What the hell, fish face?" Mugen complained, a faint note of reproach in his voice. "Dammit, I just fell asleep — "

"Get up."

"What?"

"_Get up." _All warmth had burned away from the ronin's voice, leaving it as icy as she'd ever heard.

Geta crunched against the ground, then: "What's going on?" Mugen's voice was sharper, serious: all traces of sleep had vanished.

She crept closer to hide behind a pine, her eyes fixed on the two men. The Ryukyuan, his hands empty, stood in front of the ronin, with his palms turned outward. In contrast, Jin's hand was curled around the hilt of her father's katana. "Your sword."

Mugen began circling around the other man, careful to keep his hands in front of him. "Not going to do it," he said. "Tell me what's going on."

The ronin's tone did not vary, as he moved lightly, eyes intent on his opponent. "Your sword."

"Not like this, Jin. Put it away — I don't wanna fight you."

"You went _behind my back_." The iron control slipped, then, the disciplined ronin fracturing and the man made of hunger pushing to come out through the crack. _No, no, please — _her fingers bit into the bark of the tree, the weeping resin sharp and astringent in her nose.

Mugen stopped, staring narrowly at Jin, then: "What did _you _do?"

"Draw your sword."

"No." The Ryukyuan slipped the scabbard over his shoulder, throwing the longsword to the edge of the clearing where it landed with a thunk. "I want to do this with my _hands_, prick."

She sagged to her knees against the pine. It would be worse if she came out, she knew, but that failed to quiet the little voice that singsonged of her fault in this.

The katana slid into the sheath, before the daisho landed in the grass. There was a hiss of satisfaction, then: " . . . _yes_ . . . " before she heard Mugen grunt, saw him move back, holding his shoulder.

Jin swung on him, as Mugen rolled back, ducking as he took an opening and hit the ronin in the side. The ronin let the momentum push him back, taking the hit in order to knee the other man in the stomach and they fell to the ground, clawing and gouging. Mugen tried to knee him in the groin, but Jin drew his legs up and kicked him in the ribs as Fuu watched; the Ryukyuan spat a gout of blood onto the grass that pooled, dark red by the firelight.

Mugen rolled free, up into a crouch with glimmering eyes fixed on the ronin. "What's pissing you off more? That I got there?" he taunted, wiping the corner of his mouth. "Or that I got there _first_?" Her fingernails bit crescent moons into her palms —

The ronin was silent, drifting round to the other man's left, away from the fire —

"I'd tell you what she tastes like, but you know already. She still make that one noise? Sounds like a kitten a little bit, kind of comes from in here." The Ryukyuan wiggled his fingers at his throat, then was thrown back as Jin hit him in the stomach with his shoulder.

She saw Mugen grin savagely, his hands coming up, trying to work his thumbs in near the ronin's eyes, then the flutter of silky black hair as the ronin smashed him in the mouth with his forehead; Mugen's grip on the ronin was loose, but he kept it, rolling them over, pinning Jin underneath him as the ronin thrashed and tried to throw the other man off. She got up, then — either they were through, or Mugen was going to make a serious attempt to kill Jin.

The Ryukyuan looked up at the sound of her feet moving through the grass, and she saw his lip was split. "Mugen — "

"You bitch," he said quietly, his hands loosening on Jin's collar as the ronin stilled at her approach. "I was _trying_."

She looked at him in disbelief. "You were trying? What, exactly?"

"I knew, so I didn't — " he muttered. "I didn't want to scare you."

_Oh. Oh no, no_ — she sat down next to them, as Mugen got off Jin. The ronin sat up gingerly, rubbing his forehead. "Why didn't you tell me?"

The Ryukyuan looked at the other man, then back at her. " . . . I don't know. Just didn't."

"What do you want to do?" Jin asked her.

She drew her knees up to her chin, wrapping her arms around her legs tightly instead of either of them. "I don't know," she told them honestly.


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: I don't own _Samurai Champloo _or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Neither do I own the haiku of Matsuo Basho (translation by R.H. Blyth, this chapter).

A/N: A little fluffier than last chapter, but it's Champloo; we need some comic relief and foreshadowing, no? There'll be blood and violence — and not just that threatened by the readers! — galore soon, I promise. Brownie's honor. (What? I never made it to Scouts. Something about children that recite oaths while dressed in paramilitary uniforms scares the hell out of me.)

And much love to everyone who reads, and everyone who reviews — you make me giggle like a schoolgirl, all. Tee hee!

_**Nenju**_

_XX. All that remains_

She was still sleeping when he gave up on trying to sleep and stood, stretching slightly in the hope that his muscles would unknot; her arm was flung out, bent at the elbow with the hand curled loosely. Her eyelids fluttered as she dreamed, and he turned, walking away from their clearing with the longsword slung in its customary position on his back. The ronin's eyes were closed, too, but he knew the man had woken the moment he felt Mugen shift position on his mat.

The Ryukyuan moved quietly through the forest, following the path his nose laid out for him as shrill birds greeted the rising of the sun. Neither of the other two had mentioned it the night before, but he'd known it was there; he could taste it, curling at the back of his throat. He shucked his clothing the moment his feet touched sand, leaving it in a pile on the beach with the sword resting on top, before wading into the dark ocean.

He relished the stinging of the saltwater as it worked its way into his cuts and soaked the dried blood away. He submerged himself, the water slipping cool fingers through his hair, over his stomach, between his legs. Mugen dove deeper, coming up for air only when the burning in his lungs was too much; it was enough.

He floated on his back for a long moment before finally looking over at the ronin who sat calmly on the beach, his face dirty with bruising.

"Thinking about drowning me?"

"Not long," Jin said, corners of his mouth curling up lightly.

Mugen chuckled. "Missed your chance, anyway." He waded out of the shallows, wiping the water away from his face. The ronin held his clothes out to him and he grunted his thanks, using the red gi to dry his hair. "She still sleeping?"

Jin nodded. "How badly injured are you?"

Mugen passed a hand gingerly over his side. "Haven't pissed any blood yet. Doesn't hurt when I breathe, so probably nothing's broken. Lucky for me you hit like a girl."

The ronin snorted, but didn't pursue it.

"Way I figure it, we're pretty much even," the Ryukyuan said as he slipped the white haori over his head. "Although — " He finished tying the string at his waist that kept his chopped-off hakama from sliding off his hips and held out his hand, palm down.

Jin frowned at him. " . . . no."

"Come on, fair's fair." He wiggled the thumb in the ronin's direction.

"No."

"I bit _you_."

"Yes, and it was revolting then as well."

"Works pretty good in a fight," Mugen told him, letting his hand drop back down to his side as he yawned, working the geta back onto his feet. "Surprises the hell out of people."

"Hn."

"So. You just come down here to see me naked?"

The ronin lifted one scornful eyebrow as he handed him the longsword. " . . . no. I came to talk about the Christians."

Mugen sat, stretching his legs out in front of him. "Yeah. Wanted to ask about that, but someone was trying to beat the shit out of me last night. You get to meet the other son?"

Jin nodded. "It's him. The one you met isn't capable of keeping anything that large from his mother, but the older one thinks he is — the most arrogant man I have met in a year's time — and that makes him dangerous."

"Some kind of deal at Shimabara with the shogun's men to get them out, then."

"I believe so, yes. He made it clear he was no Christian." The ronin let out a long breath, considering. "That woman — it's probably nothing. I'm imagining things."

"What?" The Ryukyuan looked over, alert.

"Good intentions worry me a great deal." The other man stood, flicking sand from his clothing. Mugen rolled to his feet fluidly; the cuts pulled and his bruises complained, but he could still move easily.

"So, what now?"

"We go on to Mihara," Jin said. "They've done nothing to us. If something did happen at Shimabara, that's between them and the Christians. If something does happen — " he shrugged. "Then we'll deal with it. In the meantime, it would be best to put them behind us. Did you learn anything from the girl?"

"Yatsuha?" Mugen said carefully. "Nothing much we can use. She's still with the guy with the mole, and they're still following us south."

"I see." They began the walk back to the clearing, and their inability to let sleeping girls lie.

"What happens with Fuu?"

There was the briefest pause, before the ronin replied, "That is her decision."

"And if it's me?"

"I would respect that." The corner of Jin's mouth twitched. "I might not even try to kill you, in that case."

Mugen gave a snort of laughter. "Better start practicing, fish face."

"And you. Sparring this morning?"

"Think I'm good for now."

"Hn."

—

"— that's because you're as stupid as you are ugly, Tatsu." A slender man, pleasantly homely, came out of the low-roofed building, carrying a bowl. He wore his receding hair cropped short and bleached the color of straw, and Mugen saw the glint of rings in his ears; there appeared to be one in his nose as well. The Ryukyuan frowned. There was something familiar about the guy —

The man stopped at the sight of them, his eyes going wide. "Jin — ?"

"Kazunosuke," Jin greeted him. "You are well?"

"It's really you?" The blond clattered down the steps, bounding up to grin at the ronin. "What are you doing here — is this everything you have? — how long can you stay? Tatsu! Wash that ugly face of yours and get out here!"

"We — " Jin began, only to be cut off by Kazunosuke; the blond was only missing a wagging tail to be complete, Mugen thought sardonically.

"You brought the squirrel girl with you!" The blond beamed at Fuu. "Do you still like dumplings? Oh, still so honey bunny."

"She — "

"You brought another friend, too? Oh, awesome — "

Mugen looked up from the whirlwind (reluctantly; there was something peculiarly compelling about watching Jin _trying _to talk and being completely run over) at the sound of feet on the long veranda. A dark-haired replica of the blond stood there, scowling. "Kazu, what are you doing — " The dark man squinted at Jin, stopping for his mouth to drop open slightly in surprise. "Big bro?"

"The squirrel girl, too, and their friend," Kazunosuke said, pleased, rocking back on his heels as the other man came down the steps. Deftly, the dark man tugged Jin's pack away, gesturing for them to follow him into what turned out to be a slightly shabby, but comfortable, home.

Mugen realized the blond was eyeing him, and gave him a sharklike grin designed to repel; the other man gasped, eyes widening. "It's _you_!"

The Ryukyuan frowned. That generally wasn't the response he was looking for —

"Tatsu! The mystery tagger!"

Mugen groaned inwardly. Oh yeah, Mihara was where _those _friends of Jin's were.

—

"You write your story yet, boy?" The voice came from the darkened garden behind the school, that familiar strident rasp. Mugen heard the sound of liquid sloshing against the sides of a flask and smiled.

"Not yet. Sake kill you yet?" he called.

There was an amused grunt. "Not yet."

There was enough light for him to pick his way through the untidy piles of manuscript and books out to the narrow balcony where his teacher was sitting. Mugen sat down, letting his legs dangle over the edge. Bundai passed the bottle over and he took a long pull.

"Wasn't sure I'd see you here again," the older man said companionably. "Actually, not sure I'm seeing you now."

"Surprised to see this place is still standing," the Ryukyuan told him.

"Have a place to stay?"

"Mihara, place called Gojuu Hall."

"Ah. The Niwa delinquents," Bundai said. "Is their grammar still so horrible?"

"Didn't stick around to find out."

"Mm. You come back to help me teach? As you can see," the older man said dryly, waving at the weed-choked garden, "I am overrun with students."

Mugen wiped the mouth of the flask off with his sleeve and returned it. "'S a girl."

Bundai made a noncommittal sound.

"And a guy."

The older man raised his eyebrows.

"Not like that!"

"Well then, my good little second grader, he's a friend?"

"Ain't trying to kill him any more, so yeah — but there's the girl," Mugen answered.

"Mm." Bundai handed the flask back. "You need this more than I do."

The Ryukyuan gave him a sour look, but took it anyway.

"So. The girl," the teacher invited. "Does this have to do with the companions who were with you before?"

Mugen nodded. "Same ones. Got her where she was going, but there was some trouble when we got there. Bad things happened to her she says aren't my fault, but still sorta are — we all split up after the other guy and I got her out of trouble, but turns out we didn't fix it, we just kinda put it off for a while."

"Mm. I take it she wasn't a problem back then."

"Not that kind." He laughed, the sound holding little humor to it. "She just used to be a pain in the ass. Now, she's _the_ pain in my ass."

"So what are you doing about it?"

He shrugged. "I make sure she's got something to eat, safe place to sleep, keep her from drowning, that kind of stuff. Sometimes we argue."

". . . hm. And the other one . . . he was ronin, I think?"

"Yeah. He talks to her." The Ryukyuan frowned. "Tells her stories, which is weird. Went with her to see an old woman."

"Tells her stories? What kind?"

"Some kind of crap about a dude named Genji, gave me the shits."

"I see."

"So . . . what?"

The older man sucked his teeth thoughtfully. "You're planting rocks and expecting rice to come up," he said. "Meanwhile, your friend the good farmer is out there tending his fields. Smart — he'll get the girl, while you're still standing around trying to figure out why you're hungry."

"Thanks. Real helpful."

Bundai grunted. "You going to do something about it, or are you just going to cry to me like a little girl?"

Mugen's head snapped around. "_What_ did you say?"

"You've got a problem that you can solve, but you aren't."

"What the hell am I _supposed_ to be doing?"

Bundai smacked him over the ear with a meaty-sounding _thwap!_ that knocked him to the side. "_Learning!_"

"Mwah?"

There was an aggrieved sigh, then: "You want something, but what you're doing isn't getting you any closer to your goal. The other man who wants the same thing is doing something that _is_. Now, would it be better to keep on as you have been, or to do what works?"

"I ain't telling her stories." Mugen sat up, rubbing his ear. "That's stupid. I don't know any stories anyway."

"It's not the stories that are important, it's that you're telling them. Pay attention." Bundai frowned, as a thought struck him. "You haven't tried talking to her, have you? Other than the arguing?"

"Eh." The Ryukyuan shrugged. "Other than the arguing?"

The teacher gave a sardonic chuckle, and lay back. "Not sure who my sympathies are for here, you or the girl. Go talk to her. Now get lost; I'm tired and the building is spinning."

—

_Okay. _He bounced lightly from foot to foot, stretching his arms over his head as he surreptitiously watched her. _It's just Fuu. You're bigger, faster and stronger,_ Mugen told himself, dropping his hands to his sides and flexing the fingers. _You talk to her all the time. It'll be easy._

He cleared his throat, and she looked up from the brightly colored carp in the Gojuu Hall pond. "All right if I sit?"

"Sure." She shifted over on the steps to make room for him. "You're talking to me?"

"Why not?"He settled one step lower than hers — talking to her would probably be easier if he wasn't thinking about her expression, he decided.

There was a pause, then: "Last night? Jin? Wanted to kill you?"

"Eh. It's happened before, no big deal." He cracked his knuckles impatiently. If she would just _shut up _so they could talk —

"Mugen." Her voice was picking up that edge that told him he was skating close to the limits of her temper. "I heard you. You 'got there first'?"

"Mm. You heard that?"

"Mmhmm." She was quiet a moment, then as he was opening his mouth to speak, said, "Half of me wants to tell you I'm sorry I didn't know what you were doing, and the other half wants to kick you for being such a dope about it."

He cocked his head to the side. "Which one's winning?"

Fuu chuckled. "The 'I'm sorry' half, but don't push it."

"Hn." Mugen leaned back, his elbows on her step. "'S all right. It was coming for a while."

"What?"

"Things were . . . different in Kasumi," he said.

"Already?"

He nodded.

She leaned down and gave him the most _exasperated_ look. "Then why didn't you say something then?" He could see that little vein in her forehead, which —

For all that Bundai usually knew what he was talking about, this talking to her seemed to be _not_ working out as planned. "I'm saying something now, all right?" he snapped. "And, shut up already, woman. I'm trying to talk to you!"

— and hey, that_ really_ seemed not to work.

At _all_, considering that growling noise she was making.

"Oh?" she asked sweetly, hectic red gathering in her cheeks. "Because _trying_ isn't working out all that well, is it? First, there's _trying_ not to scare me, and now there's _trying_ to talk to me. Could you please let me know the next time you _try_ anything, so I can tell when you're about to make an ass of yourself?"

"Look. Bitch," he bit out, angry himself. If this was what a guy got for making an effort — "This is what you want, right?"

"What?" Her face screwed into a frown.

"I know Jin talks to you."

"That's what this is about? Jin?" Groaning, she thumped her head against a post. "Why you even — you ever stop to think that maybe instead of talking at me, you could just let me know what you're thinking?"

Mugen blinked. "What?"

"This is confusing, you know? Especially considering I don't have anything worth seeing," she said and smiled. "Can we not do this now?"

"Tell me when you make up your mind, all right?"

"Yeah."

—


	21. Chapter 21

Disclaimer: I don't own _Samurai Champloo _or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Neither do I own the haiku of Matsuo Basho (translation by R.H. Blyth, this chapter), nor are any opinions on religion expressed herein meant as my views.

A/N: Fangirl Japanese attack! This time, kemari is a sport that's a little like football. And hackysack . . . and keep away, sort of? Also, a juban is a first layer of clothing, a very lightweight kimono — you see both Fuu and Jin in their juban (but not like that!) in ep #18 after Mugen makes sure to mark their stuff.

As always, my deepest thanks and admiration for readers and reviewers; you're all crazy, kids, and I love you.

Coffee Gyrl, you make me giggle.

_**Nenju**_

_XXI. Of the warrior's dreams_

Once he'd collected himself enough to be able to think again, Jin kicked himself for the time it took to walk from the tree they'd stopped under to the Christians' house.

Fuu hadn't been flirting with him when she was talking about the future, he knew; she was worried about what would happen to her, and she was right to be. He hadn't thought — hadn't wanted to think, Jin admitted silently — about what she would have made of her life if she'd never gone to Nagasaki. The idea that she would still be at that teahouse in Edo, or worse by far, married to some faceless man who would not, could not, appreciate her for what she was made Jin feel as if something inside him had gone to ice. Stupidly, he'd wanted something, wanted her to tell him somehow that that would never have happened — he could not remember feeling so _alone_ since the first cold days of his flight from the dojo.

It had been such a short step to take the opportunity when she'd given it to him.

Fuu'd surprised him, though not at first. At first, the tentative kiss had been what he'd expected, sweet and hesitant, and her fragile bones had felt like a bird's under his hands; he'd meant this to be something gentle, something that she could walk away from if she wanted. She'd startled him then, as her hands threaded into his hair and she arched against him as if she would take flight — the part of him still capable of rational thought watched passively, as the part of him that he'd been warned about at the dojo gleefully pulled her legs up around his waist.

He'd have taken Fuu against the tree if she hadn't stopped him, he realized. As it was, even seeing the brief flicker of fear in her eyes, he'd been reluctant to let her go. He'd known what it was, the moment he'd seen it there — Mariya-dono had been right to teach him to guard against that part of himself.

For the first time in years, Jin felt afraid.

How was he to defeat himself?

—

Of course, how to defeat himself was a secondary consideration at the moment.

The first was how to get through the meal _without_ using the katana on his host.

—

"The shogun's archers are very good," Jin said mildly. "I'm surprised you escaped."

Daigoro smiled. "My brother and I knew Ikitsuki as well as we knew our own house. It wasn't hard to hide our mother on the island until we could get across to Nagasaki."

"I see." The ronin allowed himself to glance in the direction of the women. Fuu was listening, her face contorted into an expression of horror, to something Maria had said; for a moment, the warmth banked inside him threatened to spill out as laughter. The light from the brazier painted the girl's face golden, her eyes matchless and dark as she looked up at him. He smiled as she blushed, her eyes dropping to her lap as the old woman patted her hand. There was still the walk back to the clearing they'd chosen for the night, he thought, it had been too long since he'd heard her laughing —

The other man turned to see where Jin was looking. "A pretty girl," Daigoro said knowingly, and the ronin wanted nothing more at that moment than to feel the bones of the Christian's nose splintering under his hand. He contented himself with giving the man a cold look; it would be unseemly, if satisfying, to start a fight with a man whose rice he'd just eaten. "Are you — "

"She is under my protection," Jin told him. It could lead to trouble if the Christian failed to take the hint, he thought.

"Good," a lighter voice broke in, as the ronin turned. The younger son, Matthew, looked at him guilelessly. "I'd hate to see any harm come to Seizo-san's daughter. Did you ever meet him?"

Jin shook his head.

"The most remarkable man," Matthew said. "It was years ago, but I still remember him so well. Remember the lessons, 'Ra — sorry, Daigoro?"

The older brother gave a very nearly genuine laugh. "Course I do. You should've been washing the floors while you were down there, you spent so much time knocked on your ass."

"It's true," Matthew told the ronin. "Seizo-san gave us lessons in the sword. I wasn't very good, but he said he wanted the village to be able to defend itself. He even tutored the women in the naginata a little. He said he didn't want any martyrs when the shogun's men finally came."

"Hn." Jin's eyebrows lifted. It was . . . sensible advice, surprisingly; he would not have believed it of the Christians before this, but what he'd seen of how they were organized caused him to wonder if he'd been underestimating them. He set that thought aside for consideration later.

"Didn't help. Shogun's archers still went through the village like a scythe through wheat. They waited until everyone was at prayer, then picked us off as they started to come out," Daigoro said, sneering. "They killed as many as they could, and then they set fire to the buildings to take care of the rest. Sword drills or not, we still couldn't defend ourselves."

The younger brother frowned. "Our Lord tests those he loves," he chided.

"He must love you a _lot_, then," Daigoro shot back.

Jin coughed, wanting to forestall outright bloodshed between the two. "How was it that you were discovered?"

Daigoro remained silent, as Matthew shook his head, saying, "No one knows. We thought we were careful, but — " He spread his hands. "We were prideful, and sin will out."

The ronin made a noncommittal noise, as the pleasant background noise of Maria's voice trailed off. "I don't mean to interrupt," Fuu said clearly in the quiet. "But there was a girl named Yuri, one of the Christians — "

"Mm." Daigoro nodded. "Her mother was killed on Ikitsuki. She and her father settled near here, before the scandal with the false European."

"Is she still here? I was hoping to see her again."

The old woman reached out and gently laid her hand atop the girl's. "I'm sorry, Fuu. She was discovered during one of the fumi-e," she said. "She's in a better place."

Fuu looked at Jin, who shrugged.

"She was a good woman. You knew her?" Matthew smiled at the girl.

"Not very long. We met her the last time we were here — she was the one who told me to try looking for my father on Ikitsuki," she told him.

"Ah. She was the one that told you Seizo was still alive, wasn't she?" Matthew turned to Daigoro. "I'm not surprised they kept in touch. He was a good friend to her father."

Fuu looked at the younger brother, her forehead wrinkled.

Daigoro nodded. "Yeah. Sad."

"Hn." Gracefully, Jin rose to his feet. "My thanks, for an enjoyable evening."

"Oh, already?" Maria looked disappointed. "You're welcome to stay the night, if you like."

"Thank you, but we mustn't. Our companion will worry," the ronin lied. He nodded to the brothers, as Fuu embraced the old woman and made her goodbyes.

Maria stopped him for a moment, as Fuu was putting on her sandals. "You must take good care of her," she said. "Seizo's daughter is very important. Promise me you'll look after her."

"Ah," Jin answered, his eyes searching the old woman's.

—

They had barely passed the edge of the Christians' tiny courtyard, when Fuu spoke again. "What do you think Maria meant when she said Yuri was in a better place?"

Jin paused. "I suspect she is dead," he told her at last, slowing his pace for her to draw alongside him.

"Oh. That's what I thought, but . . . I wanted to be wrong."

"I know."

She looked over her shoulder at the small cottage and dropped to a whisper. "He was lying, Jin."

"I thought he was," he said quietly. "What was it?"

"Yuri never knew if my father lived through the archers' attack, because she never saw him again after that; I asked her. She couldn't have told the oldest son that he was still alive."

"Ah." He gave her a little smile. "Good. A mistake."

"How is that good?" Fuu asked him curiously, a small furrow appearing between her eyebrows that he wanted to smooth away with his thumbs.

"Now we know they _can_ make mistakes." He glanced down at her, the smile lingering at the corners of his mouth.

"What?"

"The trouble with lying is that, except for a practiced liar, it's difficult to know what to say to keep up the pretense," he said with great satisfaction. "Daigoro will hardly want to ask to see either of us again."

She grinned, sighing with relief as the lantern light of the cottage faded behind them.

—

Mugen's clothes were lying on the sand, by the time he got there. Jin sat close to them, but far enough away that the longsword lying atop the red gi was out of reach.

He waited.

The Ryukyuan broke the surface moments after, the wiry brown body moving gently on the water as he floated. Those unsettling pale eyes came to rest on him speculatively, as Mugen emerged from the water, making some joke about drowning.

Jin winced. He knew he'd injured the other man, but by daylight it was difficult to believe Mugen was still able to move; split lip, gash running into his hair, gouges, and a sunset of bruises concentrated around his middle. The apology stuck in his throat, as a question about how badly the other man was hurt came out instead.

Mugen shrugged it off; telling him it evened the score between them. They began discussing the Christians instead — his suspicions sounded unreasonable the morning after, Jin realized. Fuu had caught the older son in an outright lie, so he did tell the Ryukyuan about the man, but — the words were awkward, and where he would not have hesitated to talk about his uneasiness regarding Maria and her sons before, he now found himself as silent as in the first days out from Edo all that time ago.

The other man was not forthcoming about meeting the woman the night before, either, he noticed.

Mugen was the first to bring Fuu up, though, so it was possible that the easy camaraderie they'd shared was not entirely dead; wounds healed, Jin hoped. Perhaps things would be better, once they reached Mihara.

—

Or perhaps not, he realized.

—

With all the humiliations Jin had suffered in his life — a disproportionate amount of them occurring around Fuu and Mugen, he realized; how many other ronin lost their daisho in eating contests? — surely, he thought, he'd have grown to be at ease with feeling like a fool by now.

This time, it had started with the older of the Niwa twins bringing him something to dry off with as he sat in the bath. The younger man (and how odd was it to think of the twins as _men_, he wondered) was more solemn than he was used to seeing. "Please," Jin said, nodding at the comfortable floor where the boys were accustomed to sitting to talk to their guest from the Mujuu as he bathed. "What is it?"

Tatsunoshin gave him a quick, rueful smile as he sat, like sunlight glinting off fish in the river. "_How_ old are Kazu and I, again?" he asked. "You still have to pick us up when we skin our knees."

Jin made a 'hn' of amusement. "My timing has always been poor," he offered.

"Mm." The other man shook his head. "We always just look bad when we see you. You probably don't even think we've changed at all since you used to have to get Kazu down from the chestnut tree. Remember?"

"Ah. The one Master Niwa told you not to climb under any circumstances — you did fairly well, I thought."

The younger man made a noise of deprecation. "Thanks for never telling on us."

"It's not necessary. What is it?" Jin leaned back against the edge of the tub.

Tatsunoshin looked out over the courtyard, away from him; never a good sign.

Jin sighed. He'd always had a soft spot for the twins, even before their father had asked him to look after them.

The Niwa family had always been so warm, so spontaneous — the boys and their father had thought nothing of the way the brothers tumbled over each other like puppies, or of their father stopping lessons to join in an impromptu game of kemari; it'd been as foreign as the continent to Jin. He'd never wished that Mariya-dono had treated him that way, as he saw the boys hug and kiss each other and their father; he'd only thought of what it would be like to have Master Niwa hug and kiss him the way he did his sons.

"Tatsu," he said, disliking himself for using the childhood name; the older he got, the easier it became to resort to manipulation. "I would never think less of you, no matter what you've done."

Tatsunoshin nodded. "I miss him, most of the time."

"Hn." The ronin sluiced water over his arms.

"But now?" Tatsunoshin shrugged. "I'm glad he isn't here. He would've been so disappointed in us."

"Tatsu — " The water was cooling, but not even if there had been a skin of ice forming across the top of the tub would Jin have moved.

"After you left last time, Kazu and I went to Edo with Uohori Andou. He liked our designs," Tatsunoshin said bleakly. "He thought we were _talented_."

"I remember."

"When we got there, he was the only person we knew. Your — " The other man cut himself off, mid-sentence, but Mariya Enshirou was as present in what went unsaid as if he'd sat down next to the younger man and asked the ronin if he had been practicing his jujitsu.

"Ah."

"We stayed at his home," Tatsunoshin said. "It was . . . nice. He was very good to us. He listened to what I said, like it was important, you know?"

Jin made an encouraging noise.

"Everything was great. Kazu and I were doing some amazing things with tagging, so it was like we'd finally got somewhere. We'd _done_ something worthwhile. Then . . . it was little things at first, like how he'd lean over a piece of cloth I was working on, and then he'd look at me. Or how he smelled. He still has all those people hanging around him, but it was like there was something special."

"Mm."

The younger man rubbed his palms across the fabric of his hacked-off gi. "I finally got the courage to do something about it," he said.

"What happened?"

Tatsunoshin bit his lip. "Kazu found out. He felt the same way about Andou that I do, but he kept it to himself. We couldn't stay there after that — Andou wanted us to, he said we'd figure something out, but we just couldn't and this — it's still home, sort of."

The ronin's eyes widened. "I see." This . . . was unlikely to have been what Master Niwa had meant when he'd asked for Jin to look after his sons if anything should happen to him, he thought. Or perhaps it had; either way, it wasn't what he'd expected at sixteen, when the height of romance would have been to walk with Yukimaru from lessons back to the dormitories. What to tell him? _Sure, Tatsu — I can't even persuade a woman to take _me_ over someone who can stick his finger up his nose so far you can't see the first joint, but yours should be _easy.

The other man's shoulders sagged. "You don't approve."

"No," Jin said. "That isn't it."

"What, then?"

"I may not be the best person to ask about something of this nature."

Tatsunoshin gave him a questioning look. "Why not? What about the squirrel girl? Aren't you — "

Jin looked back. "Hn," he said in what he hoped was a vaguely reassuring manner.

"Right," Tatsunoshin said, now thoroughly confused. "What would you _do_, though?"

The ronin raised his eyebrows. It was a good question, but he kept that to himself; he stepped out of the tub, thinking. "What do _you_ want?" he asked.

"Andou," the younger man asked without hesitation. "But I don't want Kazu to hate me, either."

"Hm." Jin dried himself on the rough cotton that Tatsu had given him. "What does Andou want?"

"I don't know. I don't think he does, either."

Of course. Who did? Jin nodded, pulling his juban up over his shoulders. "Which is more important to you?" he asked.

Tatsunoshin groaned, letting his head drop to his hands.

"Ah." Jin tied the juban neatly closed and set the water to drain out. "It's not necessary that you decide tonight, Tatsu, but do it soon."

"Yeah," came the muffled reply.

—

Fuu was sitting in the garden with Kazunosuke under the chestnut tree, listening to some story about dyes that Jin only caught part of as he walked toward the house.

Kazu caught sight of him and grinned, waving him over as the ronin sighed. He'd have preferred to talk to her when he was completely dressed, not in his juban and with his hair dripping gently down his back, but — his feet took him across the courtyard to the garden, almost of their own volition.

"Hey, bro," the younger man said. "You just missed the mystery tagger. He said to tell you he was going out."

"To see the man with the mole," Fuu cut in, her hands folded in her lap. She turned her face up to him, biting her lip.

"Ah." Jin stood there awkwardly.

Kazunosuke looked back and forth from her to the ronin. "I . . . should find out if Tatsu managed the futon already." He stood up, giving Jin an encouraging smile before hurrying off toward the house; Jin turned to follow —

"Hey," she said quietly.

— before she could say anything.

_Dammit._

Stiffly, he sat.

"So, I sort of had a fight with Mugen," she said conversationally. "Is it appropriate to apologize for messing up an apology? I don't know if he'll really listen, but I should try, I guess."

"You fought?" He looked over at her, interested in spite of the tiny voice at the back of his mind shouting at him to put on his hakama and kimono, and possibly some armor for good measure.

"Mmhmm." She picked up a fallen leaf and began to shred it nervously. "He . . . tries, you know? I see it, I really do, but I don't know. I don't even know if we shouldn't try to go back to how we were."

"We can't," Jin said gently. "Sake can't be made into rice again."

"Yeah." Pieces of chestnut leaf fluttered to the ground, as she turned its bare bones between her fingertips. "I just can't imagine two of us without the third being there, somehow. And even then, he's jealous of you, did you know?"

"Ah." Once she'd said it, it was plain; mentally he slapped his forehead, for not seeing before.

"I should be able to choose, but right now . . . " Fuu let the tattered leaf fall to the ground. "I can't. I lo — you and Mugen are the most important thing in the world to me. I'm not strong enough to leave you again."

The ronin nodded and got to his feet. "We should go in," he told her, holding out his hand. She took it, rising lightly; she did not let go, once her feet were under her.

"Thank you," she told him. "I'm sorry. I know it's not what you wanted."

Jin brought his free hand up to touch her face. "I want what you want." He leaned in and kissed her softly. "I want you to be _happy_," he said.

She looked at him a long moment, her hand warm in his.

He smiled, letting her hand go. "Come on. Kazunosuke and Tatsunoshin are probably attempting to suffocate each other with the pillows by now." He turned toward the house, only catching the movement of her hand up to touch her mouth from the corner of his eye.

"Only probably?" she asked, walking after him.

"Hn." He made a noise of amusement. "I'll tell you later."

She laughed.

—


	22. Chapter 22

Disclaimer: I don't own _Samurai Champloo _or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Neither do I own the haiku of Matsuo Basho (translation by R.H. Blyth, this chapter).

A/N: Yo. I'm switching update days to Sundays, for the time being — I'm doing some interesting juggling of school, work, real life and writing, and a full weekend in which to write is a very good thing for coherence, yes?

_**Nenju**_

_XXII. On a bare branch_

"Funny how we keep meeting like this," Yatsuha told him lightly, moving over so there was room for him next to her on the bench. They were the only two customers there; other, potential customers having been frightened off by the thick layer of dust and sticky feel to the counter, she assumed.

"You know, you're the only woman I know who goes to sake stands on her own. Don't you ever have problems, going to these places by yourself?" Mugen sat down next to her and poked a small pile of monme across the counter to the server in exchange for a small pitcher; he settled himself over the bench, as usual taking up enough space for two men.

"Not for long."

He chuckled. "S'pose not."

"You're drinking alone?"

He nodded, turning the cup in his long fingers. "You're a woman," he said abruptly.

She raised her eyebrows. "You knew that before, right?"

He mumbled something.

"Sorry?"

"Said, I need to learn how to talk to women."

Yatsuha watched as the server behind the counter shuffled to the far end. " . . . oh?"

"Yeah."

"Right." She drank off the rest of her sake and held the cup aloft to signal the server. "So, women, as opposed to learning how to talk to _a_ woman?"

"Maybe. Which works better?"

Yatsuha turned her head to look at him; he looked thoughtful, his elbows propped on the counter. "That . . . depends on what you want. And the woman." The server brought over a pitcher like his, liquid sloshing over the wooden sides as he set it down. She scowled, but paid the man anyway.

Mugen continued as if he hadn't noticed, but she noticed how the server backed away again when those pale gray eyes flickered over him.

She wondered how it was that his eyes were that color; she'd never seen anything like them, even among the foreigners on their yearly visit to Edo. When she'd seen the foreigners' eyes — some were properly brown, of course, but so many of them had eyes of an unnerving blue — she'd thought at first that there was something wrong with them, that they'd been diseased in some way. But Mugen — she tried to imagine him with eyes brown like hers, like Hankichi's, and couldn't. The gray just . . . _fit_, somehow. Yatsuha smiled into her cup.

" . . . what?" He tilted his head, looking at her curiously.

"Sorry," she said. "My mind was somewhere around Nara. The girl, again?"

He nodded. "Yeah. It's weird. She wasn't . . . and now she is," he said. "It was like she grew up when I wasn't there, and then when I saw her — sounds kinda stupid, when I say it like that." He didn't wait for her to offer to serve him, but tipped sake into his own cup.

"You're still traveling together?" she tried.

Mugen gave her an amused look before taking a long drink. "Problem is," he continued as if she hadn't spoken, "I don't know what to do. Everything I say around her just ends me up in the shit. And she keeps looking at that asshole like he's Yoshitsune."

Yatsuha blinked and poured herself another. "You ever try just talking to her? If you were friends before this, it couldn't be that difficult."

He rolled his eyes. "She thinks about everything too much, so yeah, it can. I can't screw this up, either, because if it goes wrong, that's it. There _they_ are. Not us, not we — them. And this is my last chance, I think. She was interested in me, too, but I messed that up." Mugen shook his head. "My own damn fault," he told the cup.

"Hey. It could work," she said and poked him in the shoulder. "You're incredible. You beat up gangs on your off days! Now tell me why this wouldn't work. Is she going somewhere with him you aren't?" She grinned as engagingly as she knew how to do.

Looking sideways at her, he began to laugh.

—

Yatsuha could see the lantern still glowing through the open door of the four tatami room. Frowning, she quickened her pace.

It was unusual for Hankichi to still be there this late. By this time of night, he should have been stationed outside the suicide's school for her to make the handoff to him; instead, he was sitting, reading by lantern light. He looked up, as she made sure to courteously step on the stairs' squeaky spot and alert him to her presence.

"Hey, where were you?" she asked, slipping her sandals off outside the door. "They're in for the evening, but unless I have the night watch and you forgot to tell me, you're late by sort of a lot."

"Yeah. Waited so I could give you this." He held the piece of paper he'd been reading — a letter, she saw — out to her. Yatsuha took it and started reading; halfway through, she sat down abruptly.

"This is bad," she said, when she'd finished. "Why now?"

"I don't know. They haven't done anything out of the ordinary; they got to Mihara, they're staying a couple days before moving on. Unless they changed plans?" He looked over at her.

She shook her head. "He didn't say anything to me. If there was a change, he wasn't aware of it."

Hankichi's voice was even. "Well, did you ask?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, did you ask?"

"Don't be an idiot." She opened the lantern and carefully held a corner of the letter to the tiny flame inside, the paper catching eagerly. "I'm doing my job."

"Sure," he said, the low light making shadows of his skeptical face. "My mistake." He slipped off into the twilight, his green clothing melting against the trees.

Yatsuha swore under her breath as the burning paper singed her fingertips. Dropping it to the ground, she watched it curl dully in on itself, nothing left to show of the message other than ashes. The letter had been short: _wandering still/ four crows fly/ to the western temples_. Deciphered, it was an instruction to wait and continue their surveillance until their superior officer arrived in four days' time.

She had no idea why the message left a cold pool in her stomach. It wasn't as if she could cry off from the mission over being squeamish about what would likely happen to the Kasumi girl; she'd done worse things than pump the Ryukyuan for information. It seemed likely that he knew what she was trying to do — he wasn't a stupid man, far from it. She'd been surprised, but not terribly so, to hear from Hankichi that Mugen seemed to be literate, based on his visits to the old crank living at Bundai Hall.

Not that it took a scribe to realize that seeing the same ninja over and over again, no matter where the girl and her two bodyguards went, was a highly improbable coincidence.

She wasn't even sure why it mattered to her what a felon from the islands to the south of Satsuma thought, or why she was feeling this — not sick, exactly, but something — over her father's arrival in Mihara, which would almost certainly put an end to the Kasumi girl's journey, and Mugen's. "It's for peace," she said out loud, a mantra against the feeling in her stomach. It almost worked.

Yatsuha carefully scattered the ashes over the hard packed dirt of the courtyard and resigned herself to wakefulness until it was time for her to take over Hankichi's watch at the school; she doubted sleep would come for her, now.

—

Notwithstanding the dim lantern that was the only illumination in the long classroom, Bundai was still very much awake, as his only student from Ryukyu discovered.

He had his books for company, as well.

—

The book hit Mugen in the shoulder. Automatically, he caught it as it fell, his eyes going to the characters written on the front; that — oh, that was just too fucking cute for words. "Ow, bastard! What the hell was that for?"

Bundai scowled. "I was aiming for your head."

Mugen tossed the book down on the low table. "One more person brings up that damn _Tale of Genji_ to me again, I'm shoving it so far up his ass he'll burp paper. And then? I'm gonna shove it up a little farther."

"Which is why you aren't getting anywhere," the older man said. "I can see you have ears, so why don't you use them?"

"What?"

"I wouldn't have taught you if I'd known you were going to turn out to be such an idiot, boy." Bundai shook his head. "You started out so well . . . "

"Hey, who're you calling an idiot?"

"I'm calling you an _idiot_, idiot. You wouldn't be back here by yourself, if you got my advice right the first time," the older man told him. Bundai fumbled in the untidiness of a cabinet filled to overflowing with scrolls, ink pots, and socks, before coming up with a flask. "Ah."

The stopper came loose with a wet-sounding _pop!_ and Bundai offered it courteously to Mugen first. The younger man shook his head, watching as Bundai tilted the bottle to his mouth. "You planning to drink that whole bottle by yourself?" Mugen asked, wondering for the first time whether the strangely golden cast to the other man's skin was due entirely to the dim light.

The teacher wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Whole bottle's nothing. I drank up almost all of a school by myself," he said dismissively, and gestured at the rickety tables laden with books and dirty laundry. "That's not important. You came for more advice on women, I imagine."

Slowly, Mugen shook his head and sat. "No."

"What, then?" Bundai set the bottle to the side of the table; his tone was bored, but the Ryukyuan had caught the momentary gleam of interest in his eye as he turned away.

"Need to know about the shogun."

"Mm?" Bundai paused. "What about?"

"And what happened at Shimabara." Mugen propped his elbows on his knees, leaning forward casually.

The older man leaned back, all pretense to gruffness gone as his eyebrows rose to the middle of his forehead. "Give a man a fish," he said, and laughed. "Teach _you_ to fish, there are questions for a lifetime. Not that that'll be all that long, you ever ask me that question outside the hall."

"Eh?"

"Never mind. Have you ever heard of places called Spain, or Portugal?"

—

"Sword practice, this morning?"

"Yeah." Mugen rolled his shoulders. "I need to go easy on you?"

The ronin smiled.

"Good." He watched as Jin drew his sword, the katana slipping as easily from the sheath as the ronin would fold his hands in meditation.

They circled round each other, the Ryukyuan learning the feel of the soft wooden boards under his feet. "Careful of the floor on the far side," the ronin told him. "They give, a little."

"How long's it been since you practiced here?"

Jin made a smooth sweep to his right, the tip of the katana describing a perfect silver arc in the light filtering through the paper screen; Mugen spun away. "Seven — no, that's wrong. Eight years," the ronin said. "But you never really forget."

The Ryukyuan chuckled, the longsword flashing up, ringing as the katana blocked it. "Eight years ago, I was smuggling sugar into Taizhou with Mukuro, trying to figure out when he was going to screw me over."

He moved back, slashing at Jin's feet; the ronin leapt away from the blade, jumping forward. Mugen somersaulted away, gaining enough space to use the sword before he pushed ahead, bulling in toward the ronin with the sword's edge. Jin blocked, again, his arms straining to counter Mugen's weight. "Ah."

They shoved against each other, neither able to find enough purchase on the soft boards to force a step backwards; the Ryukyuan realized the ronin was angling him toward the treacherous section of floor and grinned. "How dumb do you think I am?"

The ronin snorted gently, one corner of his mouth curving upward.

"Yeah, you keep laughing, asshole." Mugen shook his head, still smiling, as he let the ronin's momentum push him backwards; he pivoted fluidly behind Jin, propelling the ronin toward the far side of the dojo by bumping him with his hip, coming up close behind him before Jin caught himself from stepping into the spongy part of the floor.

"You asked," the ronin said, as he dug his heel into the floor and shoved backward, rolling behind the Ryukyuan. Jin planted his foot squarely in the small of Mugen's back and sent him flying; Mugen instinctively put his hands out to cushion his fall and yelped as his palm caught one of the old boards, driving a long splinter straight into his hand.

Mugen rolled over to face the ronin, hissing faintly as a muscle along his ribs protested. He was comforted to see that Jin was breathing as heavily as he was. "You notice that there's less blood when we use swords than there is when we don't?" he asked, taking the hand the ronin held out to him.

"Mm." Jin hoisted him to his feet, as the door slid open and Fuu stepped inside. "Fuu," the ronin said, in the same tone of voice he'd previously saved for tempura, or Masamune.

"Hey. I heard you two beating each other up, and then it stopped," she said and smiled at him. "I thought I should check to see you were both alive."

Mugen looked down sardonically at the splinter protruding from the palm of his hand. "Now what'm I supposed to do tonight?"he said.

Jin's eyebrows twitched.

Fuu looked at him blankly. "What would — I don't want to know, do I?" she asked. "Come on. I want to see if the twins have any oil in the kitchen." She grasped the wounded hand carefully and set off toward the rear of the building, leaving Jin to watch as Mugen cast a smug look behind them. They entered a long, twisting hallway, the girl walking briskly ahead of him.

"So why you want some oil? Just pull it out," the Ryukyuan said toward the hairpins bobbing in front of him.

She gave him a quick, sidelong frown. "Because that's a stupid idea. Just look at it — if I pull it out, it's going to break into little splinters and I'm not gonna get all of them. If I put some oil on it, it'll slide right out. Unless you want to be all manly and stupid about this, too?" She tugged him into the kitchen after her, their feet slapping softly against the stone flags of the floor.

He looked at her narrowly. "You know, you've been a real bitch lately, and I don't just mean the thing with Jin. What's pissing you off?"

Fuu bit her lip, looking everywhere but at him; he raised an eyebrow as she checked the same set of shelves twice.

"Come _on_," he prompted. "What? I know you're pissed off at me."

She took the stopper out of a ceramic flask and gingerly checked the contents before pouring a small amount over the splinter into his palm. She shook her head, watching the oil soak into the wood. "I am, a little. But I'm too tired to want to yell at you about it right now." Her hands were gentle, the splinter easing out almost painlessly.

"You're tired?" He frowned. "Are you sick, or something?"

"No. It's just a lot to think about, and I can't stop thinking. Wish I could, though." She kept his hand in hers, looking up at him at last with a rueful smile. "I keep following Kazu around so he'll tell me stories about what he does in Edo, and what Jin was like when he came here to study with their father."

"Stories . . . ?" Mugen cocked an eyebrow at her. All that he needed to make things that much more complicated was to have the twins chasing after her as well, he thought. Funny, he wouldn't have pegged them as the type to —

She chuckled. "Not like that. I don't think Kazu would be interested in me that way, even if I looked like that woman who got you two drunk and ripped us off."

"So what is it, then?" he prompted, reaching for a cloth that hung neatly over the edge of a basin and using that to wipe the oil away.

She was silent a long moment before answering. Then: "I don't know if I'm just something else for you and Jin to compete over."

Oh_, shit _— of course she would think that, he realized, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"Is that what this is?" Fuu asked, when he failed to answer; she took the cloth from him and folded it automatically before setting it aside. "Another way of being better?"

"No, it's — "

"Because that's really sick, if that's what this is." Her voice was too calm, her shoulders held rigid as she looked up at him.

Not knowing what else to do, Mugen awkwardly pulled her in close. She pushed away a little, and his grip on her tightened.

"I'm not some _thing_," she said softly. "You can't just do this when you feel like it."

"Yeah," he said, stooping a little so that his face was level with hers. "I know." He kissed her gently, his hands cradling her face. Distantly he thought of how she tasted of that morning's rice, of fresh water —

She hesitated, before breaking the kiss. Frustrated, he made a dissatisfied noise low in his throat, but let her turn her face from him.

Fuu pushed him away again, this time more insistently. He straightened, giving her a questioning look. "I'm sorry. This can't — " she said. "I can't. I have to decide. It's not fair to either of you if I don't." She disengaged herself from him apologetically.

"When?"

"I don't know." She passed her hand over her hair. "Soon. When I figure it out."

"We aren't that far from Nagasaki," he told her. "Will you know then?"

"I don't know. Probably." She looked up at Mugen, her eyes widening as realization sank in. "You're not coming with me if it's _not_ you, are you?"

"Fuu — " He stuck his hands in his pockets, hating the expression on her face, as if he'd just confessed to having a collection of squirrel pelts he'd been intending to give her. If it was Jin, they'd never manage in Ryukyu, he told himself; better to leave them, force them to settle somewhere they where they _could_. He'd be drawing out what could not last, if he went with them.

She made an exasperated noise, dark eyes snapping. "You still don't understand why I want you to be there, do you?"

"It would be a bad idea to have me there, if it's him," he said.

"And if it's you, then what? Do you think I'd just leave either of you here like you were nothing?" Her voice rose stridently. "You don't know me at all, if you think that." She walked out, the door rattling in its tracks behind her as she stalked away toward the thin path leading up the hill to the temple.

He watched after her a moment, before lashing out at a post with his foot.

_Dammit._

—


	23. Chapter 23

Disclaimer: I don't own _Samurai Champloo _or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Neither do I own the haiku of Matsuo Basho (translation by R.H. Blyth, this chapter).

A/N: Sorry for the lateness, guys — I ended up returning home from my weekend away a little later than I'd planned. Eep!

Squick warning. Dang plot, making trouble for _everyone_.

_**Nenju**_

_XXIII. A crow has alighted_

Sitting in the long room — Niwa Juunosuke having decided years ago (ever since the incident with Kazunosuke and the wasps' nest) that his home needed a space where he could work and still keep an eye on his sons at play — Jin marveled again at how very _small_ the space had become, now that the boys had grown.

The ronin watched, hiding a tiny smile, as Tatsunoshin leaned in casually under the guise of saying something to Fuu; her chopsticks flashed out to swat his fingers, forcing him to drop a last bit of melon he'd been filching from her dish. She laughed, as the dark-haired Niwa grinned back at her. Beside Fuu, Mugen burped unheeded, settling himself comfortably after the meal.

"Don't mind Tatsu," Kazunosuke said cheerfully. "Greedy."

Jin winced; it was not a good choice of words, given the situation with the cloth merchant from Edo. Tatsunoshin was still smiling, but there was something slightly forced about his expression.

"So," Fuu said. She gave Tatsunoshin a mock-stern look. "I think the price for extra melon should be a Jin story, don't you?"

Kazunosuke crowed with laughter, as his brother pretended to consider this. "That's fair," Tatsunoshin agreed as the ronin's eyebrows twitched. "What would you like to hear?"

"Anything," she said. "What he was like when he was younger — something like that would be nice."

Tatsunoshin popped the morsel into his mouth and swallowed. "Mm, I don't know. What _were_ you like, bro?" he asked. "He talks a lot more now . . . "

Jin snorted, as Mugen and Fuu laughed.

"Like a grownup, but more awesome," Kazunosuke supplied. "You remember, Tatsu? I mean, there were always students around — a lot of other dojo sent them here for additional lessons — but we woke up one morning and there was this new student from _Edo_. Not only that, but he was from the Mujuu and he was kin to Mariya-dono."

"You knew Jin's master?" Fuu asked.

The twins nodded. "He'd visit, when he could," Tatsunoshin said. "I think we were eight or nine, the last time. It was right before Jin came to stay."

"Ah," the ronin agreed.

"So . . . Jin," she prompted. "What did he look like? Did he have glasses then?"

"No — mostly, he looked like he does now," Kazunosuke said, trailing off. "Maybe a little shorter?"

Imperceptibly, the ronin began to relax.

"What about dumb hair? Pimples?" Mugen asked. He shrugged, when Jin gave him an annoyed look. "What? You could've been weird-looking."

"No," Kazunosuke said, and grinned. "The woman who did the washing used to wait around after bringing the clean things back, until she could get a peek at him while he was having his lessons."

"You were perfect all the time?" she asked Jin. "That's . . . kind of boring."

"Dad taught Jin how to swim when he taught us," Tatsunoshin offered. "_That_'s a good story, if you want to hear that?"

"Really?" Fuu perked up. "Yes, please."

"Hn." The ronin took his hands out of his sleeves. "Perhaps we should discuss when we will leave here — " _And leave swimming entirely out of this_, he added mentally.

"We all went down to the ocean together — Dad said it was easier to float in the ocean than in a lake, for some reason," Tatsunoshin continued. "I think he probably wanted bro to come along if both Kazu and I started to drown, plus whenever Jin said something, it was always worth paying attention. 'Those mushrooms are poisonous,' or 'if you're going to hit your brother with the bo, bring your shoulder up like _this_.'"

"Or 'duck,' Kazunosuke added, grinning. "That was _always_ worth paying attention to."

"Anyway, once Dad decided we were able to float on our own, he gave Jin a quick lesson — not much, because Jin was so amazing, he could've probably _flown_ if you gave him a demonstration — and told him to give it a try."

"I don't think rocks sink as fast as Jin did," Kazunosuke said, beginning to laugh with Mugen, who was chortling outright. "Tatsu started yelling for Dad, who managed to fish him out and get him treading water again; Dad showed him again how to float on his back, but when Dad took his arm out from under Jin, _bang_. Down he went. Again. And again."

"Hn." The ronin could feel the muscles in his shoulders bunching up, somewhere around his ears if he was not mistaken. "I was a little tense."

"Awww." Fuu leaned over and patted his knee. "You got better, though."

He looked at her, one eyebrow raised.

"Kind of," Tatsunoshin told her. "It took a day, but by the time we left the water, Jin could float for a little bit. He could swim a long way, though, even with being. . . . "

"You _were_ kind of skinny," Kazunosuke said to Jin. "Maybe that's why you didn't float?"

Jin gave the blond twin a sour look.

"Or not."

Fuu laughed. "Tatsu, I still have some melon left," she said, her eyes mischievous.

The ronin groaned inwardly, wishing that the Niwa custom was to have sake with the evening meal. And where was an earthquake when he needed one?

—

He knew, the moment he heard the sound of wooden boards creaking underfoot.

Bundai replaced the stopper on his flask and waited.

It had been a matter of time since he'd brought the boy back here, probably since the moment he'd overheard him telling the girl in pink that it was enough to be able to read one character. He'd known that much since last night, when the boy — Bundai'd always thought of him as 'the angry boy'; angry at life, at circumstance, the world around him for not being what it should, and trying to mask that under a face of surly indifference — had come calling with questions about Shimabara and Christians.

"Out here," he called, to the person moving quietly through the schoolroom. Frowning, he looked down at the flask; it was probably appropriate that this would happen with a bottle in his hand, but some little part of him had been hoping he'd have been able to trade the bottle for the book. Or anything else, really — story of his life, he supposed. "Just outside the door."

There was a faint chuckle. "You're very calm."

"Drunk, actually," Bundai lied. "I'd piss myself about now if I was sober."

"Then you know what I want."

"I . . . have an idea." The teacher rolled the neck of the bottle between his fingers. "You've come to the wrong place."

"Oh?"

"I don't take students, any more," Bundai said. "I do a little tutoring, from time to time . . . but not presently. I'm very sorry that you've come all this way for nothing."

There was a pause, then: "You're brave. Foolish, but brave."

"No." He had no idea of what to do with his hands, the teacher realized. He set the flask to one side — for some reason, it seemed important to keep it from breaking; as if a puddle of spilled sake could do anything to make him more ridiculous than he already was, he thought. He wondered who would be the one to find him. "Foolish, yes, but a coward. Ask me whatever you want, and I'll answer."

"Hm." The visitor was no longer bothering to mask the sound of his footsteps as he made his way past the long low table piled high with paper and books. "Then tell me about the foreign man who came here last night, and I promise I won't hurt you."

"Foreign man? Ah. He was here only to drink," Bundai said. "Greedy bastard, he nearly cleaned me out. Very wise of the shogun to keep foreigners out, if only to keep the sake safe."

"And you talked."

Bundai sighed. "Not in sentences that begin with conjunctions, no."

"You should keep in mind that I've made you no promises yet."

"Mm."

"What did you talk about?"

Bundai grimaced, but left it. "Women. Sake. Literature."

There was an amused snort.

"_Genji_, to be honest," the teacher continued. "I don't believe he agrees with me on its quality. I will admit that toward the end — "

"Why is he here?"

"He never told me that. I'm not entirely sure I asked. Sometimes," Bundai said, tapping the side of the flask, "my memory is not as precise as it could be."

"What did he say about his companions?"

The teacher shrugged. "He said only that one was a woman who was a pain in his ass. I stopped listening after that — women don't interest me, much."

"Did he say anything specific about her?"

"I couldn't say; really, I don't remember."

"I see." Footsteps came to a halt just behind him, his visitor near enough that Bundai heard the man's stomach gurgling faintly. The teacher kept his eyes fixed firmly on the overgrown garden behind the school, tangled weeds casting long shadows in the watery moonlight. "Where are they going?"

"I don't know."

"How long will they be here?"

"I don't know."

"Ah."

There was a gentle hand that came to rest on the teacher's head, as if the man was going to ruffle his hair, and then the most curious _warmth_ spread over his chest; Bundai frowned, his fingers coming away sticky and dark from the neck of his haori — _oh_. He opened his mouth to speak, succeeding only in a gasp as a wave of lightheadedness washed over him.

"It didn't hurt, did it?" his visitor asked, almost tenderly. "I hate to do this, but I don't trust you not to tell him about me. It's not so terrible, I think. Perhaps you'll be able to ask Lady Murasaki about the end of _Genji_, if you see her in the next world."

Blood pattered into his lap. Bundai smiled, as his heart began to slow.

He hoped the angry boy — no, he corrected himself: the angry _man_. Anyone who could annoy the shogunate so and go on living, deserved every bit of respect he could accord — would think well of him. He wished he'd been able to see him win the girl, and have children with her equally as impossible, equally as rewarding as he had become.

Bundai wished him well.

—

When the body began to slump backwards — he would not have thought the man to have so much blood in him — the other man caught it with a quick hand and lowered it to the floor, the head lolling on the neck loosely. He looked away from the dead teacher's unfocused stare, wiping his hands on his thighs before he set to work.

The living man searched the school for the next hour, grimacing when his back twinged as he straightened up from a stack of books as high as his knee. "Were you planning on helping, or are you just here to watch?" he called.

"Just watching." The second voice was lighter, higher in pitch. "I don't want anything to do with this one."

He grunted, beginning to go through the drawers of a small cabinet laden with ink brushes, paper, and an inexplicable pair of socks that he tossed to the side. "He would have talked," he said. "I would think you'd be the last person to want the foreigner to know."

"We didn't need to talk to him in the first place. What would he have known?" The footsteps were softer than his. "Mugen's smarter than that."

"You know why we did. Don't leave any loose ends, isn't that what Jinpachi told us?"

The second person knelt, carefully closing Bundai's sightless eyes. "I know he talked to her about the girl, but I don't think it was about anything we'd be interested in."

He closed the last drawer and rocked back on his heels. "The monk didn't bother you, but this one does?"

There was silence for a moment, then: "The monk wasn't precious to any of them in the way that this man was. This . . . will make Mugen very angry."

"This one bothers you because of what it will mean to him?" he asked.

"They aren't aware of the monk. They couldn't be. Or the rice merchant in Kyoto. But this?" The voice was disapproving. "Once he sees this, he's going to know what happened — the ronin too. Mugen will want to see this man one more time at least to say goodbye, and this _cannot_ be hidden."

"We'll manage. It had to be done," he said. "Even if this makes him angry. _Especially_ if it makes him angry — if it makes him angry enough to make a mistake, then it will have been worth it a hundred times over."

The other was quiet, rising from the floor next to the body.

He picked up a book and riffled through the pages. There was a scrap of paper, covered in random characters and tucked between two chapters; a piece of nothing he let flutter to the floor. "I think we need to figure out if you can carry out the mission," he said finally. "You don't look at the Ryukyuan like ninja. You look at him like a woman."

"I know what has to be done."

"Yatsuha — " He turned to look, as she walked to the door and paused.

"Did you doubt me this much in Osaka? Without him, you'd be dead by now — maybe me, too. Or did you forget that?"

"That's not fair," he said. "That has _nothing_ to do with this."

Her voice was cold. "If it was anyone else, I think you might have left the teacher alone. So don't you lecture me about looking at him like ninja, because he's not your rival. He never was."

The patter of her soles sounded softly against the path, and she was gone; he cursed and pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead to soothe the headache that had sprung up.

_Shit._

—

"Hey." Fuu's voice was light, as she paused in the hallway outside the room he shared with Mugen. "Do you need help with that?"

Jin paused, his hair pulled back with one hand. _No_, the honest part of him wanted to say, and went off on an entirely inappropriate tangent involving her sitting in his lap. "I would like that," he said instead, holding the tie that had come loose out to her. "Thank you."

She made a hum of approval low in her throat, kneeling on the tatami behind him. "Back on Ikitsuki, this was one of the things I liked best," she told him, combing through his hair with her fingers to make it lie smoothly. "Did I ever tell you that?"

"I can't remember," he said, her hands tugging pleasantly through the thick black strands. "I remember I woke once when you were doing that."

"I don't remember that. Did you mind?"

Jin shook his head. "It was good."

He wondered idly if that had been the beginning, when he'd woken to find Fuu patiently working tangles out of his hair, the back of his head resting on her thighs. He'd known it was her — he would have known her from the sound of her breathing out of a hundred other women — and hadn't opened his eyes, content. He'd forgotten what it was like to have another human being touching him, how much he'd pushed down the need for simple human contact and how much he'd craved its comfort.

"Where'd Mugen go?" she asked, pulling his hair back and tying it neatly.

"To see that man," he told her. "The teacher."

"Oh." Fuu gave him a pat, sitting back on her heels. "I thought he might have gone to see that girl."

Jin turned, looking at her curiously. "How — "

"I can smell her on him," she said, matter-of-factly. "He smells like sake and rice powder after he meets her."

"Ah." He watched her, sitting there calmly. "Fuu, I asked him to meet with her."

She smiled, her skin warm like peaches in the lantern light. "It's the one from Osaka, isn't it? I would've been surprised if you hadn't. But if he was only meeting with her to find out what's going on, why does he smell like her when he comes back here?" she asked.

The ronin nodded and reached out for her hand, surprised at his own boldness and that she let him. "He does it for you," Jin said.

"I'd feel better if he couldn't." Fuu placed her palm flat against his. Her hand looked like a child's next to his, he thought, but he would not make the mistake of thinking of her as one again. "I shouldn't be doing this. I'm sorry."

"Why?" His long fingers began to massage her hand. "Even if the circumstances were different, I believe we would still be friends."

Fuu mumbled something, her dark eyes hooded and soft as the sleeve fell away from her arm. The fine downy hair glimmered in the dimly lit room, and he wondered if they felt as silky as they looked.

"Hn?"

"Because it feels good."

"I see." He rubbed the center of her palm firmly with his thumbs. "I'll stop, then," he lied.

"No, it's all right," she said. "And I'm sorry I made Tatsu tell the swimming story."

Jin laughed. "That's fine, but how many other men do you ask — "

"Mm." She smiled. "Just you."

"Not Mugen?"

Fuu shook her head. "He — it's not like that."

"Ah." The ronin's fingertips grazed the tender skin of her inner wrist, tracing delicately over the vein that ran alongside her tendon. She shivered, but failed to stop him.

"I'm sorry I made Kazu tell the story too about why you don't eat shark," she told him, her voice gone soft and slow. "Poor Jin."

"It's all right. It was only two days that — " Jin looked up at the sound of footsteps, expecting one of the twins; his grip tightened on her hand as Mugen stumbled in, gray eyes like holes punched in paper. "What is it?" he asked sharply.

"You're bleeding! Mugen — " Fuu looked at the Ryukyuan, her eyes enormous and afraid.

"'S not mine," Mugen said, voice dull. "Bundai's dead."

—


	24. Chapter 24

Disclaimer: I don't own _Samurai Champloo _or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Neither do I own the haiku of Matsuo Basho (translation by R.H. Blyth, this chapter). Any opinions on religion expressed herein are also not mine, which come part and parcel of the plot, and I think we know how much control _I_ have over that, un?

A/N: Fangirl alert: Obon is the Festival of the Returning Spirits. There's veneration of family members who have died, red lanterns, dancing — very fun stuff, and takes place in late summer/early autumn.

And much love to FarStrider, who is alpha among beta; all good parts are due to FS, and the suckier sections would be . . . er, _me_.

_**Nenju**_

_XXIV. Autumn evening_

The ronin's hands still held hers firmly. Fuu squashed down any thought of leaving it there, no matter how the sensation of his fingers brushing over the inside of her wrists robbed her of her will, and pulled her hand back.

She avoided looking at Jin, as she reached out to Mugen. The way those gray eyes stared straight ahead — "Mugen," she repeated. "Please. What happened?"

It was a measure of the way the Ryukyuan's world was tipping on its axis that Mugen did not pull his hands away from hers as he normally did when she tried to tend the wounds he picked up. None of the blood appeared to be his, but there was so much of it; it had begun to dry and flake off of his hands and knees — had he been _kneeling_ in it, she wondered — and his clothes were splashed in crimson going to brown. The worst of it was on his haori, the white cloth stained beyond repair.

She finally registered how very cold his hands felt, and began rubbing them to try and warm him up. He frowned, but allowed it. "Is this his blood?" she asked.

"Yeah," Mugen told her distantly. "The place is a mess, they must've gone through everything after . . . "

Jin spoke at last. "How long ago?"

Mugen shook his head. "He was still warm. Not long."

"But why?" Fuu asked. "Bundai was a teacher, he wasn't a Christian. I don't think he helped them or anything. Why did he die?"

"Me." Mugen tugged his hands away finally, knotted them together as he rested his elbows on his knees. "He knew me."

"Mugen — " She looked at him, appalled, as the realization that he was right sank in.

"I see. They're tying up loose ends," Jin said. "It's dangerous to know us now."

The Ryukyuan nodded, dull eyes sparking with anger. "Bastards." His voice was bitter.

Jin stood, and they turned their heads toward him. "Come on," the ronin said. "He was your teacher. We shouldn't leave him to the crows."

Mugen paused, and gave him an unreadable look before getting to his feet. "Thanks." Fuu was immediately behind him, her thin shoulders squared in determination. "You're not coming along," the Ryukyuan told her. "I don't want you anywhere near there."

"He's right." Jin came to stand next to her, his hand coming up to the small of her back as he steered her toward the hallway; she wanted to glare at him — what was she supposed to be, eleven? — but the feel of that seductive hand stilled her tongue. "You'll be safer here."

"I don't think the twins — "

"Doubt the ones who did that to Bundai are going to be a problem again tonight," Mugen rasped. "But you don't need to see him like that."

From the way he looked at her, she knew he meant that _he_ needed her not to see it. There was no possible way to argue with that, so she nodded once and let Jin guide her away from the other man, toward her room and her comfortable futon.

"I believe he's right," the ronin told her, as they stopped outside her door. "But I'll tell Tatsunoshin and Kazunosuke before we leave." He slid the fusuma open and looked inside, seeing nothing but the roll of bedding tucked neatly against the wall.

"Do you really think they could stop the people who did that?"

Jin grunted, sounding unhappy to her ears. "The twins'd slow them down long enough," he said. "But they're not foolish. They won't come here tonight."

Fuu looked at him, her eyes full of questions.

"After we bury his teacher, Mugen will be the last person they would want to see." Hesitantly, his hand came up to tuck loose hair behind her ear. "Try to sleep. I'll come to wake you when we're back."

"Take care of him," she said.

"Ah." He slid the door shut behind her, his footsteps receding down the hall before she heard the low murmur of his voice as he found the Niwa brothers.

—

Even the room seemed colder, somehow.

Worry was a foreign expression to the twins' broad faces, stamped there oddly as they sat in the warm glow cast by the lantern. Their cheerful evening meal seemed as if it had been months ago — had she really rapped that solemn man's knuckles with her chopsticks as he stole melon from her plate? — in a different room, a different lifetime.

"But wouldn't it be safer for you to stay here?" Tatsunoshin asked again. "Kazu and I aren't — but at least you wouldn't need to worry about being out in the open. You could be attacked from any direction out there."

"Maybe we don't fight like either of you, but we could still do something," Kazunosuke offered, scratching the bridge of his nose. "We're good at hiding, we learned that when we first started tagging."

"No." Jin's hands rested lightly on his knees, faint dark smudges of weariness under his eyes the only sign Fuu could see that the ronin hadn't just come from a morning bath after a full night's sleep. "It will be safer to leave. And you must leave here, as well. Go back to Edo — you should be all right there. Bundai's death tells us that the shogun's men consider those who help us to be a danger."

Mugen grunted. "Need to get some distance between us and them," he said. "I don't like it, but it's the smart thing to do." She'd only been able to get him to change his haori for an old one, worn and soft, that she'd got from Tatsunoshin; he'd refused to wash his face or his hands after they'd returned, and dried blood still clung to the red gi. His eyes were hard and fierce.

Fuu covered her mouth, as a yawn of sheer tiredness threatened to burst out; the effort left her eyes watering. "Do we need to leave tonight?" she asked.

"Yeah." Mugen's eyes slid over to her. "Sooner we're on the road, the better off we'll be."

"But if we leave now, it'd be easy to see us — " she stopped.

"You have an idea?" Jin looked down at his hands, listening.

"Tomorrow is Obon. If we waited a little, we could probably slip out through the crowd without anyone seeing," she said. "How likely would it be that they'd attack while we were in the middle of a lot of people?"

The twins exchanged looks with her, as the two older men thought it over. Finally, Jin's eyes came up to meet Mugen's. "I'd hoped we would leave before it began, but . . . "

"Yeah," the Ryukyuan said, nodding. "'S a good idea."

"Good." Fuu allowed the yawn out at last, covering her mouth with her hand.

—

It was a _terrible_ idea.

Yatsuha sat, her fingers busily picking at the already frayed edge of her sleeve as she waited; on some distant level, she registered that the night sky was tipped in dark pink toward the east and the morning birds were beginning to sing. It was pleasant, and normally would have been a small reward for staying up all night. Though . . . the sun should have risen in the west today, if only to mark the completely unnatural nature of this particular morning.

What was her father doing _here_?

The han had given them the use of a small barracks for the time being; the building smelled faintly of weapon oil and horses, but showed signs of a recent thorough cleaning. She had the sardonic thought that it would never do to put a member of the shogun's personal guard in a dirty stable, particularly when the han had been lazy about keeping their Christians and other dissidents under control.

The building was nice enough, however. Its only drawback was that it was difficult to hear what was being said in the next room, where Hankichi was giving her father his report — she'd be able to hear if she sat next to the common wall between the two rooms. Knowing that, she stayed where she was; she'd be finding out soon enough.

The door slid open, and Hankichi came out. "He's waiting for you," he said only, his eyes not meeting hers. She nodded and took a breath to calm herself.

Her father was sealing a message as she stopped in front of him. "Please," he told her, gesturing for her to sit as he affixed the wax seal to the paper.

In appearance, Jinpachi was the unlikeliest ninja ever to serve the shogun; she'd always thought he looked like a scribe, or a monk from some prosperous temple. His face was round and good-natured, the top of his head brown and hairless as a bird's egg over a squat body. He encouraged the impression of pudginess by favoring extra layers of clothing, but the small potbelly that protruded in front was real.

He was also the best ninja she'd ever encountered in her life.

She sat, arranging herself neatly as he finished and looked up. "Yatsuha," he said, and smiled.

"Hello, Daddy."

"Hankichi's been telling me you're doing a horrible job." His eyes twinkled at her.

"He's right."

"Hn." Jinpachi tilted his head. "Can't be too bad. You still know where they are, and you haven't been compromised — of course, it's not possible to compromise yourselves any further, as the foreign man knew who you were from the beginning."

"What are you doing here?"

Something shifted behind his mild brown eyes. "Things have developed," he said. "It's become necessary to become more involved."

"You're not telling me something. Aren't you the one who always told me never to act without finding out everything possible?"

Jinpachi leaned back, folding his hands over his belly. "We've known for some time now that the Christians in this area are . . . _different_ from the ones in the rest of the country: more militant, better organized. Not to the extent of the ones in Nagasaki yet, but in a few years they'll be close. It's become increasingly difficult to keep track of them without the help of informants."

"You didn't tell us any of this," Yatsuha said. "Why? Informants could have been useful — "

He shook his head. "At the time, we had no idea that the girl and her — bodyguards? Companions? You know more than I do about that — would come into contact with the Christians. Not just any Christians, either, but ones who survived Shimabara and Ikitsuki. Ones who were important to us as a long-term resource."

"That's how you've known where to have the fumi-e."

"Of course. Though it was completely disrupted a couple years ago, by a man pretending to be the grandson of one of the foreign monks; he managed to persuade some of the Christians to make him their leader, and cultivated a nice little business making guns by using them as labor. We were about a day away from his temple when we found that the girl and the two men had managed not only to severely injure him — we were able to capture him easily after that — but to break up the operation as well." He chuckled. "Really, if there wasn't the need to take care of the problem they've become, I'd be more than willing to have those men working for me. The Hand of God wanted the ronin for a while, did I ever tell you that? Before he killed Kariya's blind assassin — after that, Kariya was more interested in killing him."

Yatsuha rose from the floor and went to the window, where the sunrise had become a tide of red and copper across the sky. She rubbed her eyes, succeeding only in driving the tiredness back for a moment before looking at him. "What if they left the country and never came back?" she asked. "Wouldn't that take care of the problem?"

He was silent a moment, then: "That would only be a temporary solution. The girl isn't a current problem, remember. She only has the potential to become one. Once she's dead, she's not a focus for the Christians any more, no matter what they think to do with her belongings. Or her bones."

"Of course." She turned away. "We must do what has to be done. It just seems so — dishonorable, somehow, after Osaka."

"Ah, _honor_," he said, not unkindly. "We're ninja, Yatsuha: not samurai. Honor is not something we can afford. We are the shogun's loyal dogs, no more than that."

She nodded.

"Ironic, I suppose."

"Mm?"

"The three of them put an end to the false European's plans to use the Christians to produce guns — if things had gone differently, it might very well have been Kasumi with the weapons and the people, and we'd be defending Edo." Jinpachi shook his head. "Well, no use thinking of what ifs, especially when the gods have seen fit to make _our_ lives easier with what is. I'd like to hear your report, now that I've heard Hankichi's — and feel free to explain why you have those dark circles under your eyes, because your mother will be asking."

"Dad!"

"You doubt she will?" His cheerful eyes went to the door, where a footman, younger even than she was, stood awkwardly. "Just a moment, Yatsuha. What is it?" Jinpachi asked.

"The Christian informant, sir — you asked to be told. He's just come in."

"Ah, so I did. Bring him here, please." The footman nodded and left. Jinpachi gave her an apologetic look. "As much as I'd like to hear what you have to say, this must come first."

"I know. Should I come back after you've finished?"

"No, stay. Please." He gestured to the tatami at his side. "He might be a help to you."

The footman brought in an unprepossessing, middle-aged man; the man seemed flabby, and she wasn't fond of the way his wet-looking mouth was bracketed by self-indulgent lines. _This_ . . . was the informant? He looked more like a man prone to bullying, if anything, she thought. Seeing her, the man leered in her direction and she rolled her eyes. The footman stood unobtrusively behind Jinpachi when her father nodded at him.

"You are called Erasmus?" Jinpachi asked.

"Used to be. Daigoro now."

Yatsuha raised her eyebrows and hid a smile. Her father could be impressed — however, _that_ was not the way to do it.

"I see." The ninja tucked his hands into his sleeves. "I understand you have a good knowledge of the Christians of this area."

"Better than anyone else's," the man said, leaning toward him. "I came here after Ikitsuki with my mother and brother."

"How nice," Jinpachi deadpanned. "I was there myself: not quite the same way, I think. There was a girl passing through here days ago whose father was at Ikitsuki too. Did you meet her?"

"She was in my house. Pretty little thing, but she had some ronin with her and he wasn't inclined to share."

"Mm. What was she doing here?"

"On her way somewhere. Ronin wasn't much for talking. Mostly she asked about a girl named Yuri, who was at Ikitsuki too."

"She didn't say where they were going?"

"No."

"And this Yuri, is she nearby?"

Daigoro laughed. "She failed to step on one of the fumi-e. Stupid girl." He gave Jinpachi what was meant to be a conspiratorial look.

"One more question about the girl. I suppose she didn't say whether she was meeting someone when they reached wherever it was that they were going?"

The man shook his head.

"Ah. Well, that was informative." Jinpachi squinted, thinking. "Tell me, what do you see in the sky?"

Daigoro's forehead furrowed, but he went to the window. " . . . nothing?"

The ninja's hand came up to pinch at the bridge of his nose. "Perhaps this would make it easier — is the moon still out?"

"No, it's morning. The sun's up, of course," Daigoro offered.

"Of course. And yet you came here anyway," Jinpachi said. "Idiot. No wonder the false European got as far as he did without our knowing about it. You, footman. Do you have a name?"

"Hiro, sir."

"Very good. Take him outside and kill him, please, and then I'll need you to take a message to the han when you've finished that."

Yatsuha sighed as the footman led the man, his mouth open, out. "Was that really necessary?"

"The intelligence coming from this province has been unreliable at best, and anyone foolish enough to come here in daylight is worthless to us," he told her. "Although there was something interesting — but let me think about that. Now, be a good girl and find me some decent ink, please? I swear, they could have squeezed better from manure than this horse piss they've given me."

—

By the time Fuu woke, the sun was up high enough to cast diffuse golden warmth through the shoji screen. She stretched lazily. The house was slowly waking up around her; she could hear Kazunosuke grumbling as he padded past her door on his way outside, and the clatter of teacups being taken down from their shelf in the kitchen.

It was warm and comfortable in the Fuu-shaped cave she'd made with the bedding, and she closed her eyes again. There wasn't any greater luxury that she wanted in life at the moment than to be allowed to doze like this, with the distinct possibility that there would be a bath after she decided to get up and miso to follow, she decided. Whenever she got to wherever she was going, this would be the way she'd start her morning if at all possible.

Wherever she was going . . . she pulled the coverlet up over her head. It'd be nice to figure out where that was, exactly, and it would be even nicer if she could figure out the manner in which she wanted the two men to accompany her. Fuu groaned.

Idly, she wondered what it would be like to wake up next to each of them — they'd slept in the same room at least a hundred times, over the past few years, but the act of waking next to another person . . . in a way, waking next to either of them would be more intimate than anything that would go before. Waking next to either of them would mean she'd chosen one over the other. _Everything_ would change; that was the problem.

It wasn't that she felt afraid, Fuu thought — neither Mugen nor Jin would ever hurt her, she knew that. She was shrewd enough to know it would be nothing like what had happened in the sunflower field; if anything, it probably wouldn't be any different than the men in the brothel, and even that hadn't bothered her much after a while. It would be better, too, if it was one of them — it would be over quickly, and it would make him happy, and that was always a good thing, right? Right. If it meant she could keep one of them with her, she could manage that.

She was strong enough for that.

Besides, the kissing . . . she liked the kissing, the kissing was very good. It hadn't been what she'd expected, either time; Mugen had been surprisingly gentle, and Jin . . . Jin had been almost _wild_. She would have expected it to have been the reverse, from what she knew of them.

She wondered what else there was about them that she _didn't_ know.

A sharp rap sounded at the door. "You up?" Mugen called, before she heard she sound of the door sliding open. "I don't hear — Fuu, what're you doing?"

"Um. Sleeping?" She pulled the coverlet down from her face, painfully conscious of the birds' nest her hair had become, and how there was probably that gross crusty stuff in the corners of her eyes —

— and how he was still wearing the same bloodied clothes as yesterday.

She sat up. "Mugen."

"What?"

"Come here, all right?" Fuu used the you-owe-me-for-saving-you-in-Edo tone. He shrugged and walked into the room, leaving the door open behind him as he came to stand by the side of the futon; she could hear the brothers bickering in the kitchen, now. "Sit."

"What?"

"Just sit down, willya?" She patted the edge of the coverlet.

Slowly, Mugen sat down, his eyes wary. He looked almost the way he had when he'd come back after Mukuro —

She put her arms around him and he froze.

Then: "Fuu?"

"What?" She rubbed his back.

"What are — what the _fuck_ are you doing?" He sounded startled; well, that was an improvement over zombie Mugen, she thought. "Thought this — "

"Shut up. This is different," she told him. "I don't like worrying about you."

"What're you worried about? Nothing wrong with me. Unless this turns me into some kind of _woman_." He held himself stiffly, the muscles tight under her hands. She began scratching his back gently.

"Shh. You still have blood on your face."

"Didn't wash yet."

"You're going to?"

Mugen paused a long moment, then said, "Yes."

"Good." Fuu patted his back; he was beginning to relax, a little. "You're coming to Nagasaki with me, all right? You promised."

"Yeah. Enough already."

There was a discreet cough at the door, and Mugen stiffened once again. She looked up to see Jin standing just outside the door, raising an eyebrow at her. She gave him a meaningful look and flicked a sidelong glance toward the edge of the futon. The corner of the ronin's mouth quirked, but he obeyed.

Mugen tugged away from her and scuffed his hands down the front of his haori. "Don't go thinking I'm gonna be all girly and shit," he warned. "'Cause I _ain't_." He carefully looked away from Jin as he stalked out, finger stuck in his ear and rooting furiously.

"Mm." Fuu pulled the cover up, tucking it under her arms. "He looked so lost."

"I know. It will be good for him to leave here — it helps to have something to do." Jin gave her a little smile and reached forward to smooth her hair.

"What — " _Pillow hair_, she remembered. _Oh, no. _"You're not supposed to see me like this," she told him.

Jin cocked his head to the side, that silky black hair whispering neatly — and unfairly, she thought to herself. Did the man _ever_ have a tangle in that glorious hair?— over his back. "'This'?"

"You know. Before I, uh, look better," she said; somehow, it seemed inappropriate to ask whether or not she'd been drooling in her sleep, and if it had left any visible sign, with him.

"Ah," he said. "I fail to see how . . . but perhaps you should dress."

Fuu nodded. "I'll meet you outside in a little while."

"Hn." Jin closed the door behind him as he went out, and she kicked the coverlet off. She needed to rinse her mouth out in the worst way —

"Oh," she said, and smiled.

—


	25. Chapter 25

Disclaimer: I don't own _Samurai Champloo _or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Neither do I own the haiku of Matsuo Basho (I believe the translation of the haiku this chapter's title is taken from was done by R.H. Blyth, but if anyone can tell me differently, please, _please_ do let me know so I can credit the proper source).

A/N: Fangirl Japanese alert! A kamayari is a three-bladed weapon; Sara the goze carried one in episodes #20 and 21. An engawa is the raised wooden walkway outside of buildings. And much love to my wondrous beta, FarStrider, who is easily worth her weight in French toast. :loves: All the good stuff here is due to her, but you knew that, right?

_**Nenju**_

_XXV. Whore and monk, we sleep_

If he'd only heard them a little earlier, Jin thought as he waited outside the room. He could see them all reasonably well, and their voices carried out into the hallway as if he was next to Kazunosuke.

Unfortunately, no one was saying what was in the small, cloth-wrapped parcel Fuu had in her arms.

Or why she was staring at the twins, her eyes full of surprise.

" — so we thought, we knew this man who does this stuff, and we took it to him with what we remembered," Tatsunoshin said. "We talked about it a little before we went to Edo, because we just sort of assumed that since — well." He rubbed the back of his head and gave Fuu a sheepish smile.

"But — " The girl looked at them, as Jin leaned forward. Was she _blushing_? "I don't know — I really shouldn't take this." She held the bundle out to them.

Kazunosuke shook his head. "Nope. We want you to have it, even if you don't . . . " He gently pushed it back toward her, as her lower lip began to tremble. "Not like either Tatsu or I will ever need it, right?" He grinned.

"Kazu — " Fuu made a noise like a squashed kitten and threw herself into his arms. Kazunosuke gave his brother a surprised, _what-do-I-do-now? _look before gingerly patting her back. She let him go before embracing Tatsunoshin, who grinned self-consciously over her shoulder; the boy looked slightly too pleased, given that his affections were still with the man in Edo, Jin thought. "It's too much. I don't know what to say."

"Just make sure you use it." Tatsunoshin gave her a squeeze before setting her down.

She laughed and cuddled the bundle to her. "Any ideas as to how?"

Kazunosuke chuckled. "As a matter of fact — "

"You'll know," Tatsunoshin cut in firmly. "Kazu, shut _up_. Or Andou-dono is going to hear a little story about how you wouldn't sleep without your _special_ quilt until you were tw— "

The corner of Jin's mouth twitched, as the blond Niwa grabbed his brother; Fuu looked as if she was trying very hard not to laugh. "You gotta wash out that ugly hole in your face, 'cause it's full of _crap_," Kazunosuke said. "You want to tell stories? I remember how you used to pretend you and Jin would go off and fight monsters — "

"Dumbass, I can't believe you. You were _so_ scared of the monsters you had to change your — "

"Going now," Fuu said, nearly forgotten as the twins picked up their continuing squabble. "I don't want to know any of this. _Any_."

Jin hurried down the hallway before she came out of the room — there would be any number of questions if she realized he'd overheard, and she had an unerring sense for when something she wanted to keep private came into conflict with something he and Mugen were interested in knowing. He doubted she'd listen to the argument Takeda Shingen had made about knowing the enemy, no matter how utterly logical it was — and slipped back into the room he'd been sharing with the Ryukyuan. There was no one there; Mugen's things were gone. He packed quickly.

_Time to go._

—

Jin found Mugen outside, squatting next to a maple with his belongings wrapped neatly for traveling. The longsword was on his back, the ends of the Ryukyuan's rough hair brushing the edge of the hilt. The leaves were beginning to turn, becoming bronze and copper at their edges: they'd reach Nagasaki before autumn broke summer's back for good, the ronin realized, but it would be prudent to take the onset of winter into consideration. If it was Ryukyu they were traveling to, they'd be sailing in late autumn at the earliest. Would there be storms at sea? He filed that thought away, to be brought out again when they were on the long road away from Hiroshima.

"Ready?"

Mugen nodded and knotted the ends of his pack together, before straightening. "You?"

"Mm." The ronin studied him for a moment. Mugen's eyes were hard, fierce underneath that wild hair. It was more unkempt than usual, and would undoubtedly stay that way until Fuu nagged him into doing something about it. It worried Fuu, Jin knew; the girl went to great lengths to stay clean herself, and any untidiness was taken as a sign of something tremendously wrong. Mugen had washed his hands and face, probably at her urging, but hadn't bothered with anything else.

Jin knew why. He'd done it himself, the first few months after.

"She knows we're leaving?" The Ryukyuan's voice was harsh.

"Yes." He tucked his hands into his sleeves. "The twins were giving her something when I saw her. I doubt it'll be very long."

"Something?" Mugen repeated. "Like what?"

"I have no idea."

The other man grunted.

Jin turned. "I'll tell her we're ready."

"Jin?"

"Hn?"

"When you left the dojo — " Mugen began, slowly.

_Ah._ The ronin waited, his eyes on a cluster of flowers at the edge of the garden; the petals were extraordinary, delicate brushstrokes of scarlet tipped with yellow unfolding against the sky. They looked the most fragile things, but he remembered seeing the same red when he'd first come to Gojuu years ago. The boy he'd been then was as distant, as different from what he was now as the moon, he thought. Hadthat been the first time he'd left the dojo? _That_ boy had been about as well-prepared for the world outside the Mujuu as a puppy.

"What did you do?"

"Probably what you did, when you left Ryukyu." Jin sat on the edge of the engawa. "I ate and slept where I could. I didn't go far."

Mugen nodded. "What about . . . "

"Mariya-dono?"

"Yeah."

"I realized after some time that there was very little that could be done," Jin told him.

The ronin did not mention that he'd come to this realization in the middle of a field, one midwinter's day months after he'd fled from the dojo and his blood-spattered futon in the middle of the night, nor how utterly foolish and powerless and _weak _he'd felt. Neither did he mention how long afterward that he'd held the drawn wakizashi in fingers that had gone blue: nor how much it had been worse than dying to put it away.

Instead, Jin said, "It would have been a great insult to him to throw my life away, even if I had known the name of the person on whom I needed to use my sword." He gave Mugen a grim smile. "I saw that by keeping myself alive, I could be a difficulty for that person even without knowing who he was."

Mugen was looking off into the distance, his face still, but the ronin could feel a jagged edge in the other man somewhere slipping back into place. "Yeah," Mugen said softly. "But_ I_ know."

—

Fuu was rolling up her futon, biting her lower lip in concentration, the edge of her sharp little teeth visible in the plump flesh there as Jin came up to the door of her room. Somehow, it was ridiculously endearing. "It's time," he said, as she looked up at the sound of his feet on the tatami.

"I know." She brushed away a wrinkle in the coverlet. "I wish — "

"What?" He walked toward the thing the twins had given her, which was sitting in the middle of the floor, still wrapped in cotton.

"Oh, I've got that." She snatched up the bundle before he could get to it. What _was_ that thing?

"Fuu, let me carry that. Is it heavy?"

"It's very light — thanks, Jin, but I can manage it. You're already carrying my things anyway."

"Hn." He gave it a last curious glance; he'd have to get the Ryukyuan to help him find out what the parcel was. "What do you wish?"

"What? Oh. I was thinking about this place." Fuu rocked back on her heels, stretching. "I'm glad you saw Tatsu and Kazu again."

"Ah." Tatsunoshin and Kazunosuke — he'd deliberately been avoiding thinking about the twins, and the feeling of breaking his promise to Niwa-dono to look after them. Although, he thought, it was a drop in the bucket compared to the mountain of guilt he already had. "I am, too."

"How is he?" Fuu tilted her head in the direction of the garden.

"He is Mugen," Jin told her. "He'll be better off once we leave."

"I heard you talking before," she said, as he fell silent. "Thank you. I wasn't sure if he was going to do something . . . "

"Foolish?"

Fuu smiled. "I was going to say dumb, but yeah."

Jin considered. "It is . . . difficult for him," he said, searching for the right words. "Death has always been something straightforward for him, I think. I don't believe he has ever felt responsible for a death that he did not directly cause, before."

"Oh." She looked thoughtful. "I suppose not."

"It's an unpleasant feeling." If she'd heard all of it — he remembered telling them some of it, that last night before Ikitsuki; the wound of Mariya-dono's death had still been too raw, too painful for him to tell them everything. He'd tell her, Jin decided, some night when the campfire had gone to embers.

"I know." She gave him a bleak little smile when his eyes flickered to her face. "Come on, Jin. How many people are dead because I decided to go to Nagasaki? There's Yuri, for one. My father. Can't forget Sara, either. Mugen can blame me instead of himself for what happened to Bundai."

"No," Jin said. How long had he been this blind, he wondered; of course she'd blame herself. Slowly, he brought his hand up to rest on her shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting manner. "It is _not_ your fault. None of this is your fault, Fuu."

Fuu shook her head. "Saying that doesn't make it less true. If I lived a hundred lifetimes, I don't think I could begin to make up for everything that's happened. I don't — " she said, frowning. "I just want everyone to be able to have a normal life, you know? I want Tatsu and Kazu to be able to go back to Edo and fight about stupid stuff, and be dumb about that designer guy, and be _safe_. I want Maria and her sons — even the jerk — to be able to live in their little house. I want Yuri to be alive and get married to someone _boring_, who tracks dirt in from outside, but she doesn't care because she loves him anyway." She leaned against him and he put his arm around her; he could feel the sharp edges of her shoulder blades through the pink kimono and something caught in his chest.

He let his lips brush against her hair — surely, he could be forgiven for that. "I would not have a lord who prized empty honor and thought only of self-preservation," he said ruefully, and tipped her face up with his fingers under her chin. "Even if you had chosen to stay in Edo, you couldn't have kept them safe."

"You would have been safer," she said. "You and Mugen. If something happened to either one of you — I don't think I can ever make it up to you, what you two went through. You almost died, Jin — I thought you were going to. And Mugen — "

"We didn't." The irises of her eyes were the clearest brown, like a stream over fallen leaves in autumn; almost of their own volition, his fingers came up to brush over her face. "We _won't_. I promise."

"You don't know that." She shook her head again. "Don't make a promise you might not be able to keep."

"I'll keep that one." He bent toward her as her eyes closed, lashes a delicate fan against her skin.

Her mouth was soft and cool, under his.

This kiss was nothing like the one they'd had in the forest — that had been all hunger and raw want, he hadn't had time to put up any defense against her. This, _this_ was tender, an offering of warmth and redemption; he'd had enough time to think to keep her from slipping under his guard, but the reasons why he would want to do such a thing were as morning mist. Her hands had gone from palms against his chest to clasping his kimono, resting over his spine as she kissed him back, and Jin wanted nothing more than to soak in her sunny affection for the rest of his life.

He let her go, when he became conscious of the desire coiling inside of him. That . . . would keep, he decided, tucking her against him, her hair tickling the underside of his chin. This was hardly the place or the time, and the Ryukyuan deserved to know who she'd chosen. Mugen had the right to know, he thought.

A cough from the doorway made him look up. How long the Niwa brothers had been standing there, he had no idea — how rusty had his skills become, if the _twins_ could sneak up on him undetected, he reflected — although they were both grinning and Kazunosuke was blushing furiously.

"Uh," Tatsunoshin began, trying to hide his grin of approval. "We can come back later — "

"Much, _much _later," Kazunosuke added. "Sorry, bro."

"Hn," Jin said, as Fuu stepped away from him, her eyes downcast and her cheeks tinted pink. "No, it's fine."

"Mugen said you were getting ready to leave." _And by 'getting ready to leave_' Tatsunoshin's eyes told him clearly, _he meant 'stick your tongue down her throat'. Obviously I came to the right place for advice on Andou-dono!_

It was probably a good thing that, in all likelihood, he was leaving the country, Jin decided. Those two would never let him live this down, would they?

"Yes. I was just telling Fuu." The ronin shot the younger Niwa an evil glare as the blond man opened his mouth to speak; Kazunosuke subsided, his face still full of merriment. "Fuu. Mugen is waiting for us outside," the ronin said firmly.

"Um. Right!" She picked up the bundle, gave the Niwas an embarrassed smile and fled, leaving him to face them alone.

Obviously, some sort of repair to his dignity was called for, if he was to properly instill some sort of values in them: something that would help them to live as the sons of Niwa-dono should, and more importantly, something that would keep them alive should the shogunate take an interest in them. "Ah. Tatsunoshin, Kazunosuke — "

"Bro, we know what you're gonna say already," Kazunosuke told him. "And we think it's great."

Well . . . _that_ had been much easier than he'd thought. "Hn?"

The older Niwa nodded. "We like her, a _lot_. I mean, sure, she doesn't have that cute little squirrel any more, but the way she looks at you, it's obvious."

Jin's eyebrow twitched uncontrollably. That hadn't been — it was obvious? Really? "Actually, I was planning to tell you to go back to Edo as soon as possible. Now would be best, no later than this evening," he said, reluctantly leaving the topic of what the twins had seen that _he_ hadn't. "Stay in places with a lot of people nearby. Go to the textiles merchant, when you reach Edo."

The brothers exchanged a glance of perfect understanding. "We're all ready to go. We'll stay with Andou-sama once we get to Edo," Kazunosuke told the ronin.

"You'll leave tonight?"

Tatsunoshin smiled. "One of the guys who used to come out tagging with us has a boat now — he said he'd take us as far as Bizen."

"Good." Jin rested his hand against the familiar weight of the daisho at his hip. "You asked me about something earlier," he said, awkwardly. "I — "

Tatsunoshin held up a hand to stop him. "Dad would've told us we knew the answer already. And we do . . . we just haven't figured it out yet. But we'll have a lot of time between now and Edo." His broad face shone, as he gestured for Jin to walk ahead. "Now get out of here, willya? Your _girlfriend_'s waiting."

Jin's eyes slid sideways to him, as Kazunosuke snickered, following after them down the hallway. "My — what?"

"I'm sorry. Your _honey_ bunny."

"Stop that."

"Your sweet bean dumpling?"

"I should have left you in that tree," Jin told him, as they stepped off the engawa into the garden where Fuu and Mugen were waiting. The twins laughed, as the ronin walked over to her with all the dignity he could muster, given that the idea of a formal relationship with Fuu had caused an absurd warmth to kindle inside him. He'd never liked the idea that anyone else would see her as an unmarried woman, traveling unchaperoned with two men, and think less of her for it — Jin gave her a real smile, as her head came up; perhaps in Nagasaki —

Fuu_ looked_ at him then, her eyes full of unhappiness, and he realized in one long, horrible moment what she was about to do.

— _oh please please no oh gods not that please no no_ _I can't_ —

— and of course he should have known what she was going to do; so _stupid_ of him not to have seen it —

Her eyes full, she walked past him and slipped her hand into Mugen's.

"Let's go," she said.

—

Thankfully, the shogun's men did not wait long.

—

Jin had chosen to walk behind them. In a way, it was easier if he didn't have to imagine it.

Mugen had let go of Fuu after the first few steps and was walking with his arms crossed loosely behind his head. She held the bundle the twins had given her; her eyes were on the ground in front of her, her head bowed so that he could not see her face — f he'd wanted to, he could have reached out and touched the nape of her exposed neck — but somehow she had become the Ryukyuan's even without the man's hand on her.

Jin knew why she had done it, of course.

It was idiotic, and a little part of him wanted to shake her until her teeth rattled in her well-intentioned little head, and it was so completely _Fuu_ that he could have laughed until he cried; but in the end, she'd made her choice, and it hadn't been him.

To his credit, Mugen had done nothing to rub his failure in his face. He'd muttered a 'sorry' as they walked past Jin and the gaping twins, tugging Fuu along after him; that was it.

Jin hadn't expected him to gloat, to be fair, but he would have expected something more than that — that quiet acceptance on Mugen's face.

The festival was in full swing, red lanterns hanging from every conceivable surface as they reached the center of town, and Mugen took her hand again to keep her from becoming separated from them as they walked. Jin automatically narrowed the gap between himself and the Ryukyuan to a sword's length as the crowds pressed in nearer, the closer they got to the Obon tower; he concentrated on the people around them, letting the dojo consume everything within him for now.

Movement at the corner of his vision drew his eye, and Mugen's as well; the Ryukyuan drew in a long hissing breath. Jin turned his head — ah, the pretty whore from Osaka, the one who'd turned out to be ninja, was walking not more than five steps away from them, the man with the enormous mole, who'd followed him out to the enkiri dera, flanking her. The ronin looked around, counting — five, no, at least six of them, from the way they ignored the festival in favor of watching them. One of them, an older man with a paunch, eyed him fearlessly.

The whore was looking at Fuu's hand in Mugen's, and scowling; she was _angry_? Jin filed that thought away for future reference, as the older man slipped in next to him. "If you're waiting for her to come at you with a kamayari, it won't happen," the man told him in a cheerful voice. "We tried that already. You must be the teacher killer — I've been looking forward to seeing you in action."

_So_. Jin drew the katana at his hip just enough that the hilt cleared the scabbard guard; he opened his mouth to speak —

And Mugen was there, his eyes gleaming in the light from the red lanterns. "And which teacher killer did you mean?" he said, silken-voiced. "Because _I've_ been looking forward to seeing you."

—


	26. Chapter 26

Disclaimer: I don't own _Samurai Champloo _or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Neither do I own the haiku of Matsuo Basho (I believe the translation of the haiku this chapter's title is taken from was done by R.H. Blyth, but if anyone can tell me differently, please, _please_ do let me know so I can credit the proper source).

A/N: Must . . . fangirl . . . Japanese! A kodachi is a sword, shorter in length than the katana. Many thanks to my WONDERFUL beta, FarStrider, who is an eleven on the one to ten scale of awesomeness for putting up with me.

And I heart the readers and reviewers like whoa; you're all crazy, kids, but I love you.

_**Nenju**_

_XXVI. Under one roof together_

She hated Jin a little, in that moment.

He'd been smiling — that warm, disconcertingly _happy_ smile that made him look years younger than her, the way she thought he would have looked back when he'd been a boy at the dojo. That smile, that made her chest fill with giddy sunlight — as he'd stepped off the engawa, the twins laughing as they walked behind him.

And then, he had not.

That not-smile — because when did he ever let on when he felt any pain, any need, she thought, he never _needed_ anything, anyone — the sunlight inside her tangled up in knots. How could he look at her like that, when if anyone did, _he_ knew what she was doing? He knew how much the world would be nothing but darkness, if she didn't —

She hated herself even more, in that moment.

—

The streets were filled with people, almost as many as at Kyoto's festival, with enough red lanterns hanging overhead to make the town nearly as bright as midday and the air full of the smell of yakimanju and the oil someone was frying it in. Any other time, Fuu would have wheedled them into stopping — now, she was reminded unpleasantly of the last Obon they'd all been together, just before she'd sent Jin off with Sara. Memory nipped at her: he'd known what the goze was and gone anyway — she shoved that thought as far down as she could, concentrating instead on keeping up with the man striding along ahead of her.

Fuu bumped along in Mugen's wake through the crowds, his warm fingers threaded through hers, the tall ronin a solid presence behind her as they reached the center of town. The Obon tower was here, dancers swirling about the base; she felt Jin's breath ghosting over the top of her head as he drew closer. He must have seen something, she realized, as Mugen's head snapped round to look —

— _someone_, she realized, a pretty woman who was staring at Mugen as if she knew him very well.

_Very_ well.

"Didn't know if I'd see you before we left," Mugen rasped, his shoulders tensed. "You've got some balls." His free hand came up to rest on the longsword's hilt, tugging Fuu behind him with the other so that he was between her and the strange woman.

The woman's eyes shifted to Fuu, sweeping over her before pointedly looking at their linked hands. "I thought she'd be bigger," the woman said, her mouth turned down. "You figured out how to talk to her, I see."

"Bundai helped."

"He would've." She came closer to them, and Fuu caught the familiar scent of her rice powder. "That wasn't done well." An older man was saying something to Jin — she strained to make out the words over the woman's voice, but only managed to hear the cheerful tone and the resulting sharp click as the ronin thumbed his katana past the scabbard guard.

"Shouldn't have been done," Mugen said. It took Fuu a moment to realize he and the ronin both were moving slowly away from the crowds, drifting past a line of shops closed for the night toward the relatively clearer end of the road; she crept along behind him, taking tiny steps. "Was it you?"

The woman shook her head, matching his pace.

"Don't matter. Not gonna bring him back."

A momentary lull in the noise of the crowd let Fuu hear the older man as he spoke to Jin, then. "You must be the teacher killer," he said, as she took a sharp breath and Mugen stiffened. "I've been looking forward to seeing you in action."

_Don't_ — she pleaded silently. Jin wouldn't allow the man to see his reaction, she thought, but it was still too near the surface for Mugen —

— as she found herself grasping only air with the hand he'd been holding, his voice gone smooth. "And which teacher killer did you mean?" he said to the man."Because _I've_ been looking forward to seeing you." Both Fuu and the woman turned to look; the woman's face had gone still and watchful.

Jin made a small noise of warning, as the older man chuckled. Mugen's eyes narrowed, the longsword hissing out of the sheath on his back as he drew.

Fuu moved away, her eyes on Jin and Mugen, until she felt a rough wall pressing against her backside; she'd be out of the way here, wherever here was.

There weren't _that _many — six of them, she saw: the woman, the older man, and four men who looked to be about as old as Mugen and Jin. One of the men, incongruously kind faced with a mole high on his cheek, had his eyes fixed on Mugen, ignoring the ronin. The rest of the men milled about the older man, darting glances back at him for instruction.

For his part, the older man acted as if the ronin and the Ryukyuan were the only others present. "That's right," he said to Mugen, with something like approval. "It must be eating you up to know you killed him, and you weren't even there to do it. I wouldn't worry about it too much, though; he was drunk when it happened, I hear, so he probably didn't feel much of anything."

Mugen began to move toward the older man's side, longsword at the ready.

"Of course, throat cutting is tricky business. It's always difficult — do it a little wrong, and they die in a great deal of pain without being able to tell you. It's not like running your master through," the older man told Jin, smiling. "I'm sure yours had a few words for you — something very touching, I'm sure. Did he forgive you for ending his life with such dishonor?"

Jin looked back at the man, his head bent toward the man politely. Fuu's eyes followed the line of his arm; as she watched, the ronin loosened his grip on the katana hilt. "You know a great deal about us," he said. "It would be discourteous of me not to at least ask your name."

The jolly face the older man wore _slipped_ a little, then, his gaze sharpening. "How rude of me. I am Jinpachi of Iga."

"Ah." Jin nodded. "The shogun's loyal dog?"

"Mm." The older man's attention was focused almost entirely on the ronin, a slow movement away from Mugen the only sign that he paid any heed to the danger approaching him from the side.

Fuu flattened herself against the wall at her back as Mugen quickened his pace, bringing the longsword up — one of the young men panicked then, drawing a kodachi to block Mugen's swing — the young man shuddered, as Mugen's sword flickered a bright arc through the air, cutting him down.

She heard Jin sigh, muttering something like "I swear," before the katana at his hip was out, blocking a thrust from another one of the men as the shogun's men attacked.

Not the shogun's girl, she noticed; the woman held her weapon in her hand, but stood watching on the side of the melee. The older man stood next to her, his face set in sardonic lines as his eyes followed Mugen slashing open one of his men.

One of the attackers tried to close with Jin, bringing his short sword up as the ronin parried, spinning around behind the man. The shogun's man choked, coughing in scarlet as the katana slid through him from the back — Jin tugged on the katana to free it, but the blade had caught; the man tottered toward him in grotesque mimicry of the dancers round the Obon tower as the ronin's eyebrows drew together.

Fuu looked away, as Jin resorted to bracing his foot against the man's rump and _pulling_ — Mugen was hacking at the man with the mole on his face, she saw, but the man was managing to keep ahead of the Ryukyuan's vicious swings; he was quick, as quick as Mugen —

— as the older man moved forward, toward Mugen's unprotected back.

She opened her mouth to scream — bizarrely, no one at the festival seemed to even notice a group of men brawling with swords — but shut it again. What would he be able to do about the man coming up behind him, she thought, her mind racing. There was nothing to be done, except — despite the situation, Fuu smiled to herself. Not original, but it was the only thing that could work under the circumstances.

She turned away from the sight of Jin trying desperately to shake the dead man off his katana, jumping to reach a red lantern bobbing a little lower than the rest. Her fingertips brushed the edge of the lantern, tipping it — the lantern swayed, but remained on its hook. She jumped again, her outstretched hand making it tilt wildly _almost almost almost_ — ah! The lantern dropped from its hook, falling into her cupped hands.

Mugen smashed out at the other man, sharp edge of his geta flashing, as Fuu quickly pitched the lantern at a shop with several colored banners fluttering in front of the door; she apologized mentally, as the lantern fractured into pieces against the shop wall, scattering flame all down the shopfront. Sparks caught in the banners, glowing pinpoints that grew into greedy flames that began to lick at the cloth.

"Fire!" she screamed . . . sounding absurd to her ears, as she wondered what happened to people who tried to burn down cities — probably not any worse than what happened to women the shogunate was trying to kill, she decided. Anyway, it wouldn't get very far.

Probably.

She tightly clutched the bundle the twins had given her, pressing the soft parcel against her chest as she watched; Mugen spun the quick man in a circle, using him to block an attack by the older man. The woman was watching them as well — why wasn't she helping, Fuu reflected, what was she waiting for? Their eyes met over the battle in the middle of the road, and the woman gave her a crooked, bitter smile, nodding at the shopfront that was blazing merrily by this time.

_Come on, come on, _she chanted inside her head. _Anyone. Your town is on fire! All attention this way!_

The katana slid free at last with a sickening crunch of bone, as the man Jin had killed flopped limply off the end, Jin moving around the body. He called out to the older man, and she felt cold pool in the pit of her stomach; the numbers were even, especially if the woman stayed out of it, but there was something off — she felt a wave of adrenaline sweep over her, urging her to get them and_ get out get out get out_ —

"Fire!" someone shouted. "The market is on fire!"

_Finally,_ she thought.

The older man gave them a look of appraisal through the thick smoke, before motioning the others back. He nodded as Jin began leading them away, the Ryukyuan following reluctantly. When she paused — they were just allowing them to leave? — Mugen grasped her wrist and pulled Fuu gently after him.

—

They found an old, ramshackle hut in a field just outside of Hiroshima; the roof was partially caved in on one end, but by that time, Fuu couldn't have cared less. Mugen dropped his pack and let his legs buckle, his back sliding down one of the crumbling walls, as Jin set his belongings down. She let her eyes drop closed for a moment —

"Oi. Fish face," Mugen said, even-voiced, as she blinked them open. "Get lost for a while, willya? I want to talk to Fuu."

"Ah." The ronin's face was perfectly composed as he glanced over at her. Fuu looked away, unable to meet his eyes, or Mugen's. ". . . I see," Jin said. "You do still intend to leave for Nagasaki in the morning?"

"Yeah."

Jin nodded and got up. "Don't be long," he said only as he left.

Fuu raised her head as the sound of his footsteps receded. It was like the first few days she'd known them, when he'd hardly speak at all to her — when he did speak, the words were for Mugen as much as for her.

"You were fine with me when we left Mihara," Mugen told her, leaning tiredly against the wall. "You can't look at me now, though, can you?"

"I can."

"Well, you ain't." Grimacing, he flexed his hand. "Don't go thinking I'm all noble and shit. If you want me, it better be for me, not 'cause you two got your heads all fucked up and you think you're supposed to pick me for some stupid reason."

"The last thing I think about you is that you're noble," she said, and came to sit by him, holding out her hand. "Here. Did that ever heal right?"

"What? Oh. Good enough." Mugen watched as she took his hand in her soft fingers and began to rub it tentatively, hissing between his teeth when her thumbs moved over the place where it had been broken on Ikitsuki. "Careful."

Fuu gave him a look, but decided she'd let the idea that she could be less than careful pass. "Are you trying to get rid of me?" she asked, instead.

He chuckled. "Nice try."

"Anyway, you're the one who said you weren't staying if I didn't choose you," she said. "You hate Ryukyu that much?"

He glanced up at her face. "That what this is? You just want me along that bad?"

Fuu rolled her eyes. "No. Mou, why all the questions? Maybe it was just that you're . . . you." She gently pushed into the pad of muscle at the base of his thumb, as his eyelids drooped in pleasure.

Mugen made a soft 'hn' sound. "Maybe I have a hard time believing it, when he's all over you.

"I believed you, when you said that this wasn't about which of you was going to win," she observed. "If _Jin_ believes me, then I don't understand why you don't."

"Mm." He thought a moment, before acknowledging her statement with a lift of the eyebrows.

"Anyway, I'm not even sure you still, uh . . . want . . . _me_." Fuu blushed, her face an echo of her pink kimono, her fingers slowing.

"You choose me, you're gonna have a lot more to be embarrassed about than talking." He gave her a lazy smile. "I know I don't wanna ask this, but what makes you think that?"

"I know you go to see that woman, the one from the festival."

His eyes opened completely, as he shifted against the wall to look at her, his face interested. "Oh, yeah? Jin tell you?"

She shook her head. "I could smell her powder on you when you came back."

"Huh." He scratched his nose. "Hadn't thought of that."

"And if you get close enough to her for me to smell her on you — " Fuu shook her head, rubbing his hand briskly again. "I'm not going to be second-best, Mugen, no matter what. I might have been willing to do that when I was fifteen, but not any more."

"Don't s'pose you would," the Ryukyuan said, amused. "Not like you would've then, either."

"So, are you or aren't you?" She poked him in the side, her face hot as the words came out; when had she become so _forward_, Fuu wondered.

Mugen chuckled, calloused fingers closing around her hand; she went very still, as he held her pale little hand in his, turning it from side to side as he looked at it. "Long's I'm not second-best, either, " he said. "I meant what I said."

"Mm." She nodded. "As long as you need me."

"Yeah." He lifted her hand up, the sleeve falling away from her arm where the skin was a smooth, creamy peach. He brushed his fingertips of his free hand against the flesh curiously; the light touch made her shiver under his speculative eyes. "So," he mimicked. "'M I sharing my mat, tonight?"

Slowly, Fuu shook her head. "I won't do that to Jin. Not in front of him."

"'S fair." His eyes gleamed. "He's not here _now_ — "

"Mugen!"

"I'm not the one who said 'not in front of Jin'." His hand dropped familiarly to her leg, fingers pressing against her through the suddenly very thin cloth of her kimono. "Just sayin', he's not here."

"He'll be back any minute!"

"It could be quick," Mugen said persuasively, rubbing the center of her palm, which — she blinked.

"Are you telling me it doesn't take you very long?" she asked, hiding a grin as she remembered a conversation with one of the other brothel girls back in Kasumi.

He gave her a look of horrified outrage. "What? No! I can go for — dammit, you're just screwing around with me,"he said, as she began to laugh. "First, you try to burn down a town, and now this?"

"Well, sometimes it gets boring having you two save my life all the time," she told him, smiling. "It's been a while, so I thought I'd try it again."

He grinned at her with something that felt like approval. "S'pose I should be happy you didn't use fireworks this time — Mihara'd _still_ be burning."

Pleased, she stuck out her tongue at him. "It wasn't that bad, when I did it in Edo."

His eyes shone wickedly, as he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her tightly against him. "Don't do that, if you don't plan to use it,"he told her, his hand smoothing over her hip. "If that's all you can think to do with it, I have some ideas."

_Uh_, a small voice at the back of her mind murmured. _It would be_ —

The door creaked noisily open, swinging inward slowly enough that she had no doubt that Jin was expecting to see them doing something more than they were. "You're — " he said. "Ah." His eyes went from Fuu to Mugen, as the Ryukyuan got to his feet.

"Yeah, got it," Mugen told the ronin, before bending over Jin's pack and picking out Fuu's sleeping mat; he unrolled it close to his with a snap, as if to defy the other man to challenge his right. Jin watched him without any change in expression, bringing out his own mat on the other side of the hut.

Fuu sat on the battered tatami, suddenly bone-tired. Whatever this was, it'd keep until morning, she decided; she curled up on the mat, awake only long enough for her mind to register as Jin lay down on his, facing away from their side of the hut.

_That's not how he sleeps_, she realized hazily: then unconsciousness washed over her, and she knew nothing.


	27. Chapter 27

Disclaimer: I don't own _Samurai Champloo _or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Neither do I own the haiku of Matsuo Basho (I believe the translation of the haiku this chapter's title is taken from was done by R.H. Blyth, but if anyone can tell me differently, please, _please_ do let me know so I can credit the proper source).

A/N: Squee! Eh? What's that? Chief factors only held terms of about a year and then returned to Europe, you say? And none of the ones who were at Deshima for more than one year were named Isaac? Well, not in the _Nenju_verse, baby. Also, a reminder: that M rating is there for a reason.

_**Nenju**_

_XXVII. Moon in a field of clover_

In the end, they'd run from the festival like demons were at their heels, stopping only when Fuu had collapsed in a quivering heap at the side of the road. His legs had been shaking at that point as well, and the ronin's face was drawn and tired; they'd slept that night in a pine forest, not even bothering to unroll their mats. Jin had had them up and back on the road as the sun rose — he'd pushed them, hard, to get to this place.

As usual, they'd been expecting their arrival in Nagasaki to solve their problems, when — again as usual — they'd managed to land themselves in the shit.

Mugen sucked his teeth thoughtfully. It shouldn't have been a surprise that the big foreigner — what was the man's name again? Yoshi? Uji? — wasn't the first person they saw at the foreigners' settlement in Deshima, but before now, it hadn't occurred to any of them that finding the man once they reached Nagasaki could be a problem in itself. Stupid: of course he wouldn't be waiting for them. They'd be lucky if he remembered who they were, now that Jin no longer wore glasses, and his own face had been scarred. He might recognize Fuu, but the way that their luck was going these days, it was best not to count on it. Although —

He smiled. Maybe there _was_ something.

"Oi. Fish face," he said. "Gimme your wakizashi."

The ronin's eyebrows drew together as he put his hand protectively over his daisho. "No. Why?"

"Come on. Just do it, all right?"

"What are you going to do with it?"

Mugen gestured impatiently. "You'll get it back. Just gimme."

His eyes narrowed, Jin drew the wakizashi slowly and handed it over.

Mugen leaned over and plucked the scabbard out of its place at the ronin's hip, ignoring the sharp exclamation Jin made. The guard at the door relaxed slightly from the tensed position he had taken when the blade had been drawn, but gaped as the Ryukyuan sheathed the sword and offered it to him. "Here. Take this in to . . . " He looked inquiringly back at Fuu and Jin.

The girl recovered from her surprise first, a moment before comprehension washed across the ronin's face. "Jouji," she supplied.

"Right. Take this in to Jouji — huge guy, red hair, blue eyes, talks kinda funny." Mugen wiggled the wakizashi encouragingly at the guard.

The man took it gingerly, looking at it as if it was about to bite him. "Wait here." The door shut with a snap, leaving them to stand outside.

Mugen yawned, stretching. The water lapped against the stone of the island's foundation pleasantly, the sunshine a warm tide over his shoulders — even if the foreigner had gone back home, the afternoon could be redeemed by a good nap, he thought. After that, they could make a decision about what to do next.

Preferably, the decision would involve food of some sort.

"You never had any castella, did you," he said to Fuu.

The corner of her mouth quirked, a smile threatening to come out. ". . . no. Who got it?"

"Jin," Mugen lied. "Greedy bastard."

The ronin made a small disgruntled noise, as she laughed.

"He's not here, we'll go buy some, figure out what to do."

"How was it?" she asked.

Mugen shrugged, answering, "Eh, too sweet," as Jin said, "Delicious."

Fuu made an unladylike snort of amusement, covering her mouth with her hands; the sound was so unexpected that the Ryukyuan laughed out loud, and the ronin broke into a little smile. How long had it been since she'd forgotten herself enough to sound like . . . well,_ Fuu_, Mugen wondered. Maybe once they got to wherever they were going (his mind stubbornly persisted in throwing out a memory of the beach in Ryukyu he'd liked, especially on clear nights) and she'd settled into some kind of life, she'd be the girl who carried squirrels around and nearly won eating contests —

A clatter at the door broke into his daydreaming, as the guard returned.

With someone.

"_Little ninja girl_!" Laughing, the European swept Fuu up into a fierce embrace, squashing her in his arms as her feet dangled far above the ground; his lips were against her cheek — Mugen frowned. Was the guy trying to _kiss_ her? True, he was at least a couple handsbreadths taller, and outweighed him by . . . well, a _lot_, but he was sure he could still kick the guy's ass for him. Weird, though, he could've sworn Jouji preferred guys —

The European set a wheezing Fuu down, his face brightening as he caught sight of the men. "And Mugen, and Jin, too! You are all here!" Pale eyes shining, Jouji hugged the Ryukyuan tightly as well; Mugen froze — oh, man, Jouji was gonna try to kiss _him_! — but before he could reach for the longsword, the man whispered, "We must be careful. Along the shore, a short walk north from here will bring you to a stand of four willow trees. A boat will meet you there at moonrise that will bring you back and we'll talk then." Mugen grunted, and the man set him back on the ground, the Ryukyuan's ribs complaining.

"Jin!" Jouji advanced on the ronin, his arms outstretched.

The ronin lifted an eyebrow, folding his hands into his sleeves.

"— uh." The European stopped, directing a broad sunny smile at the ronin instead. "Well. Are you in Nagasaki long? Please, we will have tea, and you will tell me what has happened since we met. I am glad to see you again," he said, gesturing them ahead of him, past the guard.

Slowly, they filed past the guard, a cheerful Jouji chattering to Fuu about the Deshima vegetable gardens and how he'd been unable to grow wasabi there. Jin slipped in next to Mugen, hand resting on the katana hilt for comfort, as the Ryukyuan unashamedly _stared_.

They'd seen Europeans before — Mugen saw a few who looked familiar, he'd probably seen them in Edo rescuing Jouji at the kabuki theater, he thought; but really, between the straw-colored hair and those unnerving pale eyes, they tended to look alike — but here, they seemed to be everywhere.

The buildings were reasonably Japanese in appearance, white plaster and dark wood with low roofs in dark gray tile, and the small lanes of the island were laid out in such a way that it looked like a small backwater area of Nagasaki, but . . . it just wasn't. For one, there was an odd flag fluttering against the sky, and for another — two Europeans walked by, nodding to Jouji as they went, continuing their conversation in whatever language it was that they spoke, something low and guttural that sounded like the Europeans were talking through a mouthful of sticky rice. All of them — except for Jouji, who wore normal hakama and kimono — were dressed strangely as well, bizarre garments on top and short tight hakama to the knee with stockings pulled up to the edge of the hakama; they were a little like cranes, the Ryukyuan decided, enormous bundles of clothing on top with stick legs poking out from underneath. He noticed the ronin's eyes flickering over them, eyebrows drawing together subtly, before Jin's face went blank once again.

The big European led them past what looked to Mugen's eyes to be storage buildings of some sort, up to a large, comfortable-looking house; the Ryukyuan was fascinated to see a heavy wooden door, carved in panels that showed some sort of story — large pinwheel things, alongside a river, seemed to be important — set into the wall.

Jouji opened the door without hesitation, the door swinging outward instead of sliding on a track, shepherding them into a central room that was reassuringly Japanese in appearance, green tatami mats on the floor; Mugen kicked off his geta, leaving them alongside a pair of carved wooden shoes, before following the ronin into the room.

"Please," Jouji said kindly. "Our cook has been practicing his eel rice bowls. Would you try some? I'd be grateful if you could give me your opinion on them."

"Yeah. Sounds good." Mugen sat abruptly, as the ronin and the girl lowered themselves to the floor; impressed, he watched Jouji easily arrange his bulk on the tatami. Someone had been teaching him the culture, he realized. The European was good at mimicking Japanese mannerisms, but it was the precise way in which he did things that gave him away as a foreigner — neither Jin nor Fuu thought that much about the way that they moved, he knew. They just _did_.

That, and the fact that while the man was only about a handsbreadth taller than the ronin, he was nearly twice as broad, Mugen reflected.

A slender, mild-faced man hurried in, as Jouji was smoothing the hakama over his thighs. Something about the guy looked familiar —

Next to him, Jin twitched. "What are_ you_ doing here?" he asked the man.

The man blinked, and smiled. "Goodness! I _thought_ we would meet again someday."

Jouji looked between them. "Inuyaka. You've already met my guests?"

"Oh, back in Edo, years ago. We met at a roadside stand." The man looked at Jin appraisingly. "We had a discussion about fireflies, and dojo life, if I remember correctly. You are called Jin, I think?"

"Hn."

"How delightful to see you again." The man turned smoothly to the European. "Isaac-san, Pieter-san would like to see you. Should I let the housekeeper know we have some guests to stay?"

The European shook his head no. "The deputy director can wait a little while. I'm afraid they aren't able to stay the night, but perhaps something to eat. Eel rice bowls would be very good," he said.

Inuyaka smiled at them. "Of course. Immediately," he said, and slipped out of the room noiselessly, Fuu frowning after him.

"Jouji — why did he call you Isaac?" she asked.

"I'm Jouji to my friends here," Jouji said. "When I must be European, then I am Isaac."

"It must be difficult," Jin said.

The European nodded. "But I am used to acting," he said. "A man with my . . . preferences must be, back home."

"I see."

Inuyaka came back into the room, preceding a group of servants who carried trays of food that they set in front of the travelers and Jouji; he sat next to the European, waving away a servant who would have set a tray in front of him. "I have my meal later," he explained. "But this is extraordinary that I would see you again after all this time. Will you stay in Nagasaki long?"

"Possibly," Jin said, as Mugen picked up his bowl and set to with gusto. "We're on our way to a place near here, Iki— "The ronin broke off his words, closing his mouth tightly.

"How sad." Inuyaka's eyes gleamed. "We could have continued our conversation. It was terribly enjoyable."

The ronin made a noncommittal noise and began to eat.

Jouji began to talk then, telling them about his last visit to Edo and seeing the kabuki actor they'd met; Mugen was only half paying attention, the good food in his stomach making him sleepy and dull, but he gathered that the actor and the European had been close at one point, but then — traitorous bitch! — the actor had thrown Jouji over for a playwright, before he'd started to run to fat or had started running or something. Jouji seemed wickedly pleased, so Mugen contented himself with picking a last piece of eel out of his teeth and watching the sake cause a pretty blush to pinken Fuu's cheeks.

He was nearly dozing, when he realized the ronin was making their goodbyes; yawning, Mugen got to his feet.

"I'm sorry we couldn't stay longer," Fuu said.

"Yes." Smiling, Jouji returned the wakizashi to Jin, who inclined his head and replaced the sword in its customary position at his hip. "I wish we were able to see another play together — perhaps when you're in Nagasaki again?"

"When we're in Nagasaki again," Fuu said. "Thank you, Jouji."

The big European waved, Inuyaka standing next to him as they went out the gate.

"So who was that?" Mugen asked.

The ronin 'hn'ed. "Hired assassin. He tried to kill me in Edo."

Fuu's eyebrows rose a fraction, as the Ryukyuan scratched himself luxuriously, saying, "Eh. Everyone we know is an assassin, seems like." _Or dead_, a tiny voice nagged at the back of Mugen's mind, before he ruthlessly squashed it down. "Come on, we've got some trees to find."

"Ah."

—

Isaac pressed a thumb against the bridge of his nose, hoping to lessen the dull ache just above his eyes.

"You're lighting a lantern in the powder stores," Pieter told him. "We _can't_ afford to be caught with them here, not after what happened with the Portuguese."

"You think I don't know that already?" There was no rancor in the chief factor's voice, only a tired resignation. "I can't turn them away. The men saved me from a beating at the very least in Edo, and the girl — "

"We can't be held responsible for what their government does to them."

"We _are_ responsible!" Aware he was shouting, Isaac flattened his palms against the smooth wood of the table in an effort to calm himself; he pictured it where it had stood in the house at Nijmegen a lifetime ago, and took a deep breath. "Can you tell me that the shogun would be so intent on the Christians, if we hadn't educated him?"

"It was the truth," Pieter said, defensively. "You know as well as I do what the Spaniards would have done, they do it even now in the Americas. You're the last one I would have thought would want to set heretics to burn in the cities. You doubt they'd do it?"

Isaac made a noise of grim amusement. "Can you see _those_ two allowing themselves to be led to the stake? They're wolves, not sheep. They'd never let them take the girl, certainly."

"They're only two men."

The chief factor shook his head. "There are more of them than you realize — there would be blood to make the Crusades look like children playing at war with sticks."

"Then it's better this way." His second sat back in his chair, hands loosely clasped across his middle.

"If it is, why do I feel like such a miserable sinner?" Isaac asked wryly. "Solve my problems for me, Pieter. Please."

"Hm." The two men looked up, falling silent as a brief tap sounded at the door and Inuyaka entered with tea.

"You've been hard at work since this morning," he told Isaac, turning to Pieter with a mild smile. "You must make him take a break, Pieter-san, he won't listen to me."

"He doesn't listen to me either, Inuyaka." Pieter sat back, the brocade of the chair hushing against his clothes, as he watched the Japanese man pour the tea. "I'm afraid you've been able to civilize him only so far."

"Are you two conspiring against me?" Isaac gave Inuyaka an affectionate look.

"Only for your own good," Inuyaka said. "Am I interrupting?"

"Not at all. We were talking about home, so you came just in time."

"Oh." Inuyaka waited as Isaac poured a cup for him. "I wondered if you weren't thinking of having that girl and her companions to stay for a few days."

"Mm?" Isaac handed the cup to him. "I suppose we could, if you wanted them. Don't you know the samurai?"

"Ronin, I think. Not very well — we met once, years ago, and not for very long." The slight man took a sip and said, "I'm not surprised that the islander and the girl don't remember me. It was a very short time."

"Still, if you'd like, I'm sure we could put them up for a few nights?" When Inuyaka shook his head, Isaac smiled at him guilelessly. "Then we won't. We'll have enough to do, now that the Batavia ships are in. Have the crews finished yet?"

Pieter rolled his eyes. "What you mean to ask is, 'Pieter, have the crews even begun to be questioned?'. The answer is no, unfortunately. It'll be at least a week until we can have the merchants in, so I'm having everything unloaded into the second warehouse. Very nice silk from Bengal this time around, as well as a bit of pepper, and some barrels of nutmeg," he said. "Which — well, one of us must see to it."

"Someday you'll have a deputy of your own," Isaac told him. "And then you can sit about like a king."

Pieter laughed, smiling at Inuyaka as he left; the slender Japanese man looked warmly after him a moment, then came to sit on the arm of Isaac's chair. "He works very hard," Inuyaka observed. "Almost as hard as you do."

"He does. I'm very lucky to have him here," Isaac said, and reached up to stroke fingertips over the top of the other man's hand. "If he wasn't, I'd have very little time for you to civilize me."

"Yes, you'd be a barbarian still, almost as bad as the islander."

"Hm," Isaac said. "He made an impression on you. I would've thought you would've preferred the other?"

"Handsome, isn't he? The last time I saw him was at a hot spring," Inuyaka said, wistfully. "Yoshitsune, come to life. Not that the islander isn't attractive, but I think he'd kill you rather than take his pleasure with you."

Isaac laughed. "And Yoshitsune would not?" he asked, savoring the name. Inuyaka had his faults — it was part and parcel of taking the shogun's man to his bed, he knew — but the delicious cultural subtleties he was learning more than made up for it. That, and there was that _thing_ he did with — the European coughed, shifting in his chair. "I think his interest is elsewhere."

"My goodness." Inuyaka pursed his mouth. "He might have, once — but there's the girl. It's very strange. When I met them, she was pretty enough, but neither of them had any interest in her. Now, she's lost some of her looks, if anything, but still both of them are consumed by her."

"You don't see why?"

"Even if she were a pretty boy instead? No."

"How many women do you think they have in their lives? Not brothel girls — a connection there would be ended before it began. I doubt there's another woman that either of them know to speak to," Isaac said, his eyes going to the window, the sun setting outside. "Man only covets what he sees." He smiled, and reached up to take the other man's hand.

"It won't end well," Inuyaka warned.

"Probably not."

—

The boat was there promptly at moonrise, and somehow Mugen was unsurprised to see Jouji had come himself. Mugen leapt into the boat lightly, the feel of the water through the bottom rolling through the soles of his feet; Jin handed Fuu in — to her credit, she went willingly, Mugen was happy to see. It would have been understandable if she'd been reluctant, but she sat next to him without a word — before clambering in himself.

Jouji pushed off from the shore and began rowing, the oars sleeking through the water with hardly a sound. "I'm glad to see you all," he murmured. "Not long, now."

Fuu opened her mouth to speak, but Mugen shushed her. "Gotta be quiet," he said, then looked at Jouji. "Anyone know you're doing this?"

The European shook his head. He rowed the rest of the way in silence, mooring the boat at a tiny, deserted quay, before leading them to the warehouses they'd walked past earlier. Jouji slid open the door of the second one, ushering them inside before closing the door behind him.

When the European lit a lantern, Fuu gasped.

The warehouse they were in was large, a cavernous space of plank floors and polished wooden beams gone the color of forest honey: but the impressive part of the space was the sheer number of _things_ that the Europeans had crammed in there. Wooden crates rose in high stacks at one end, a number of barrels set in next to them, as pallets of cloth-wrapped bundles made tidy lanes within the building. Mugen touched one of the bundles, and felt it give under his fingers — Jouji saw, and smiled. "Cloth," he said. "We bring it in by ship from islands far to the south of Ryukyu. There's cotton, and Bengal silk . . . I think that one is velvet, though. Enough for a king's ransom."

"Hm." Mugen raised his eyebrows. With a king's ransom — _ah_. He stuck his hands in his pockets, feeling the edges of the ryu sewn into his clothes, and grinned; old habits never really went away.

"The lantern will have to go with me when I leave here — I am very sorry," Jouji continued, as Jin looked up from his examination of a bill of lading on the side of one of the crates. "The government keeps a close watch on us here."

"Yes," the ronin said. "You should be aware of something — "

"Inuyaka?" Jouji asked. "He's part of it, I know. I haven't trusted him with this, and I'll make certain he doesn't find out. Now, as much as I am happy to see all of you, I know you haven't come to Deshima just to see how the Europeans live. You're not searching for the sunflower samurai anymore, are you?"

"No," Fuu said. "He died, three years ago."

"I see. Then you must be here for the ships."

The ronin nodded, as Mugen said, "She can't stay here. The government is trying to kill her — they've made a couple attempts already. We got to get somewhere safe."

"All of you?"

Mugen made a noise of assent. "Fuu's with me now, and we ain't about to leave Jin behind." The ronin gave him a surprised look, but said nothing.

The European scratched his chin, thinking. "It can be done," he said finally. "But I need some time to arrange a ship, so you'll need to stay here a few days. The sale won't be for at least another week, so you'll be safe enough in here for the time being, and I'll bring you your meals."

"You haven't asked where we want to go," the ronin said.

Jouji chuckled. "Somehow, I don't think you'll choose to go to Holland. You'll let me know when I need to," he said.

—

There was no risking another lantern after he left, but they'd stayed in worse places than the warehouse. Actually, it was even sort of comfortable: dry, warm, and the air inside scented richly with spices that the Europeans were storing there. It wasn't completely dark inside — the moon had grown fat again, providing enough illumination this clear night for him to see the rest of the false island from the small window.

Weird — only in this country, Mugen decided, would the government _make_ an island to keep their pet foreigners on. It was convenient enough for the Europeans, who were well-fed and housed, with all their needs seen to — Jouji'd even said something about how whores were brought in from Nagasaki proper for them, he remembered — and they were assured a market for their cargo, but they still lived in a cage with a door they couldn't open. A door . . . Mugen wondered if the door was meant to keep them in, or keep the rest of the country out.

Either way, he knew, Fuu'd be wondering where he was.

Mugen padded through the fragrant darkness, the bolts of cotton and silk absorbing the sound of his footsteps, muffling the sound of cicadas outside.

Conversation inside was muted as well, he discovered, as his feet took him closer to the end of the warehouse where he'd left them.

" — he know why?"

There was a pause, then she said quietly, "No. I couldn't."

" — worst possible — " Jin's voice became an indistinct murmur again; Mugen shifted, pressing his back against a bale of plush cloth, soft like the belly of a young dog, or the ronin's voice as he spoke to the girl. Jouji'd called it velvet, he remembered, as Jin's voice came to him again, as clearly as if the ronin sat next to him. "He is too proud for that, you know that. It will end badly."

"You're wrong," she told him. "I'll make it work."

"Fuu." The ronin paused. "If I — "

"Don't." The cotton rustled, further away from Mugen than the other man's voice. She wasn't sitting next to the ronin, then, he realized.

Jin sighed, resigned.

"He's a good man." Her voice was tired.

"Ah."

They were silent a long moment. Mugen put his hand out to the bale of velvet, his palm brushing against the nap of the cloth as he rose from his crouch —

"Tell me a story, Jin," she said.

"Of course."

"I want to know — " Her voice was rough. "What's the worst thing you've ever done?"

The ronin did not answer. Mugen leaned back, unable either to walk away or to announce his presence, his breath a tight knot inside his chest. If he'd walked in to find the ronin lying between her thighs, he reflected, it might have felt something like this —

"Tell me," she said. "I need you to be _ugly_."

—

Jouji snorted, hearing the steps come up behind him. "I didn't think I'd see you out here just yet," he said. "Not sleeping?"

"No." Mugen stopped next to him, looking out at the quay. "Need to go into Nagasaki."

The European gave him a surprised glance. "Already?"

"Yeah. Want to come along?"

Jouji laughed. "You think I should?"

Mugen shrugged. "You're fucking the shogun's man. Anyone needs a drink, you do."

"Mm." The European cocked his head to the side, before shaking his head. "You're probably right, but no."

"Your loss." Mugen jerked his head in the direction of the quay. "Can I borrow that?"

"There will be a guard shortly. Do you want to risk it?"

"Yeah." The Ryukyuan turned pale, bitter eyes on him. "It won't be a problem."

"Fair enough."

—

He didn't look up, as the hand came to rest on his arm; instead, Mugen drank the contents of the cup down, feeling the warm sake burn all the way down.

Somehow, he wasn't surprised at this, either.

She slid in next to him, holding up a finger as she slid a couple monme across the counter. "Drinking alone again?"Yatsuha asked.

He grunted. "You should get out of here while you can," he told her. "'M in a _really_ shitty mood. Doesn't improve it any that you killed Bundai."

"I didn't, but I don't expect you to believe that." The barman set the cup in front of her before skittering away with the money, going to stand at the end of the bar that was furthest away from the man in red with the waves of anger rising off him like steam. "Look, this — it's not going to end well for any of you. Just take her and get out, all right? The government won't be happy, but you'll be alive."

The Ryukyuan gave her a sour look. "You didn't hear me? Get _out_."

"Not until you tell me you'll go."

Mugen was out of his seat, pressing her up against the wall with a hand at her throat before she even heard the clatter of the stool falling to the floor. The barman gave a choked-off shriek and shot out the back of the stand. "All I want tonight is a drink. No talking, no damn stories, and most of all, no women."

"You're being stupid."

"No _talking_," he bit out. "You hear what I said?"

Yatsuha swung her foot in an arc, landing a solid kick in his kneecap; he hissed in pain, tightening his grip as he blocked a punch to his midsection. "I'm being nice, jerk," she said. "_You_ get out."

His hand wrapped around her wrists, letting her wriggle out of the grip at her neck. "I don't want to hear it," he said. "Why can't you just shut up?"

"You don't want to hear me? Then do something about it." She lashed out with her foot again and he bent his leg to the side, leaving her kicking fruitlessly.

Mugen sighed. "Fine," he said, and kissed her.

—


	28. Chapter 28

Disclaimer: I don't own _Samurai Champloo _or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Neither do I own the haiku of Matsuo Basho (translation by R.H. Blyth, this chapter).

A/N: Remember kids - play nice and no character-bashing in reviews, m'kay? Also, Kabashka, ff dot net is being dumb about letting me respond to your last review, so my apologies.

And FarStrider? _Wonder_ beta. :loves:

_**Nenju**_

_XXVIII. Along this road_

The warehouse was pleasant enough; it was _Jin_ who was turning out to be the pain in her ass.

Stupid ronin — him and his logic. _Pfft_. When had that ever done anything?

"Did you know he came back to the brothel in Yokohama to rescue me?" she asked. "O-suzu told me."

"Hn."

"He did. Not you, him."

"Was this before or after you and I were at the gambling hall?"

"Oh! Don't even — "

"I could, perhaps, have gone back to the brothel _after_ that to rescue you?"

"You? Not funny. I had to break a vase over the head of a pervert to escape, you jerk!"

". . . a pervert?"

"He was so obviously a pervert — he said he liked my face!"

"I see."

"That didn't come out right, but — " Fuu flailed for an appropriate thing to say. _He poked me in my squirrel!_ sounded unbelievably crazy, but she let it go with some reluctance. Maybe if she phrased it differently —

" . . . ah. Still, very admirable that he came to rescue you," Jin allowed. "It would have been very impressive if you'd been there, I'm sure."

She gave up and stuck her tongue out at him. Childish, but satisfying.

"I saw that."

" . . . nnngrhh. Where did he wander off to, anyway?" Fuu asked.

"It's likely that he decided to explore the building," the ronin said. "Or that he's outside."

"He didn't say anything to you, either?"

"Ah."

"He hasn't changed all that much, has he?" She shook her head, smiling despite her irritation.

"He's still as proud as he was," the ronin commented. "Perhaps more."

She considered — Mugen had always had more than his share of pride, so how Jin thought he could tell —

"It's no kindness to him to do this."

_Ah, crap. _Fuu made a face. They were back to that again, were they?

Jin made a sound, sharp and disapproving. "Did you tell him?" he asked, making her want to put her hands around his throat and just _squeeze_. It wasn't fair, that he could go from being that way to being the loyal friend who'd carried her zori inside his kimono, and back, sometimes even within the space of a heartbeat. "Does he know why?"

She counted to ten in her head, then said, "No. I couldn't."

"It will be the worst possible thing for him to find out, especially now. He is too proud for that, you _know_ that," he told her. "It will end badly."

"You're wrong. I'll _make_ it work." Tired, she rubbed her eyes.

"Fuu. If I — "

"Don't," she said, though whether to him or herself, she didn't know. The silk whispered against its cotton wrapping as she shifted her weight against it. "He's a good man."

"Ah." He sounded unconvinced.

She changed the subject. "Tell me a story, Jin."

"Of course."

"I want to know. What's the worst thing you've ever done?"

The ronin did not answer; she heard a rustle as he moved, so softly that if she'd taken a breath she would've missed it.

"Tell me," Fuu said. "I need you to be _ugly_."

This time, there was no mistaking the quiet sigh. "The worst? There are so many things I've done of which I'm ashamed," he told her, in a voice gone slow and thoughtful. "Shishou died at my hands, and I broke my promise to Master Niwa. I robbed Mugen of Mukuro's death. I . . . failed to protect you. Those are all things of which I am ashamed."

"But none of those were your fault."

"No," he said. "They were. Every time, I acted without thinking. When Shishou made that request of me — I should've known he would not have done that without being forced."

"You didn't fail to protect me, though," she pointed out. "I tricked you and Mugen into leaving."

Jin snorted. "Fuu," he said in that tone he usually reserved for statements like _the sun rises in the east_, or _fishing is a life or death struggle between man and fish_. "It's not difficult to predict what you will do."

She raised her eyebrows. "That's not what you said."

"Hn? When was this?"

"When — " Her face reddened. _Right after Mugen beat you_, she thought. "Just after we left Maria's house."

"No, I said I only ever understood half of what you _said_," he corrected. "Not what you do. That's different."

"So why — " Fuu said, wishing the words back immediately. "Never mind. It's stupid."

"What?"

"Why didn't you know?"

"Ah." Jin paused, then said, "You told me once that without duty, this world would be a dark place — I _should_ have known it would be him; but I saw only what I wanted to see. Foolish."

She heard a mix of calm and regret in his voice, and a horrible acceptance that he would of course have come second to the Ryukyuan; her stomach twisted into a tight knot. "Oh, Jin," Fuu said, lamely. He sounded so _defeated_ —

"I underestimated you, and for that I am sorry."

She rolled onto her side abruptly to face toward him, her kimono pulling tight under her arms in protest at the too-quick movement. "Don't be. You don't have to apologize for anything to me. Ever."

"Hn."

"Are we friends, again?"

There was a brief huff of wry amusement, then: "Did we stop?"

She smiled, propping her cheek on her hand. "In that case, can I braid your hair?"

"No."

"Come on. Friends do that."

"Not this one."

"You let me on Ikitsuki . . . "

"Fuu, I didn't _let_ you. I was unconscious — you didn't really, did you?"

"We'll never know, will we?"

"Ah." His face was hidden from her by the darkness of the room, but she thought she glimpsed a quick smile. "I never answered your question, did I?"

"Hm?"

"The worst thing I've ever done."

"Jin — " She winced. "I shouldn't have asked you that. You don't have to tell me."

Jin made a noncommittal sound. "If I told anyone, it would be you. I . . . think I would like to," he said. "It's been some time since there was someone to tell."

"Oh."

"You saw him, you know."

She frowned, confused. They hadn't seen anyone who knew him on the way to Ikitsuki — did he mean the twins? The only other people who'd known him before the journey had been the ones from his dojo, and he'd killed all of them that they'd met —

"You asked me then who he was, and I told you he was like my little brother. Do you know what I meant by that?" His voice was steady.

"He was from your dojo?"

"He was one of the students there, yes, but he was my little brother in _shudo_. Do you know what that is?"

Fuu shook her head. "No."

"Hn." He nodded. "It's not surprising. Your father would've hardly mentioned it to you if he'd been in Edo, and you had no brothers. It was customary at the dojo for a man — usually one of the older students, though Mariya-dono indulged himself once or twice while I was there — to take one of the boys for pleasure; the two become brothers in _shudo_. I believe this also happens at other dojo, though I don't know this for certain. I only ever studied at Gojuu Hall and the Mujuu."

"Oh." The boy in the mountains — she had a vague memory of dark eyes and hair almost as light as hers. He'd been beautiful, she remembered —

"I was sixteen when it began, and it lasted until just before I left the dojo. Yukimaru was very different, then. He was . . . charming, I suppose: he was interested in _everything_. I used to tell him that 'why' was obviously his favorite word," he told her.

She bit her lip. Jin's voice had softened, talking about the boy; she could almost taste bitter bile at the back of her throat. It was stupid and idiotic and she was jealous, even though she'd made it quite clear to Jin that he was free to be with anyone, much less a dead boy who'd tried to kill the ronin the last time he'd seen him. She was better off not being with someone who so _clearly_ preferred overly pretty crazy boys, Fuu told herself with a sniff.

Right?

Right.

Also, now that she thought about it, the boy's languid dark eyes had almost certainly owed some of their allure to cosmetics — Jin was talking again; hastily, she pushed that thought to the back of her mind. "He even listened well," the ronin told her. "That was . . . very attractive."

"Mm," she agreed.

"He was happy at the beginning. I was as well, I think. It was very flattering that he had an interest in me."

"So you weren't — ?" she asked. "You weren't interested first?"

"Ah. It was unusual for any of the other students to have much to do with me. For the most part, I practiced on my own, or with one of the masters. Yukimaru was the opposite — he was quite popular with the other boys. He could have had anyone to be his older brother, really, perhaps even Mariya-dono; but he wanted me."

"What happened?"

Jin let out a long breath. "When I was seventeen, the Mujuu began having difficulties. It was never the most prosperous of dojo — the sword of no-mind is demanding — but there were even fewer students, and we lost more with every break. Mariya-dono was very concerned, especially after he made the decision to name an heir."

"Why?"

"He'd chosen someone who was unknown outside of the dojo, who was still a student there; by the time he'd become the headmaster, he'd already made a name for himself as the Thousand-Man Killer, and there were many people anxious to send their sons to be trained by someone so skilled. With a new headmaster that no one had ever heard of, the Mujuu would lose even more students."

"Oh," she breathed. "It was _you_, wasn't it?"

"Ah." He nodded. "I am the only master of the Mujuu, now. It will die with me, unless I can find someone to teach. For some time, I thought of Mugen, but it's impossible. If he was younger, perhaps — but we were talking of Yuki.

"When the dojo began losing students, it became necessary for me to keep as much of that from him as I could; he was never very good at keeping a secret from the other students. He knew me well enough by then to know I was keeping something from him, and that it involved Mariya-dono — however, instead of realizing that it was the dojo's well-being, he believed I was unfaithful to him."

"That's so stupid. You wouldn't do anything like that," she told him strongly. "_Ever_."

"Mm." The ronin gave her a fleeting smile. "He never could believe that there wasn't someone I preferred — even so, I kept it a secret. By the time Mariya-dono came to me with the shogunate's offer to keep the dojo as a training ground, Yukimaru would not have believed me, and when Shishou was found dead and I had gone missing . . . "

"But none of that was your fault. If you'd told him, more students would have left. You didn't have a choice."

"Didn't I?" Jin asked. "If I'd told him from the beginning, he might have understood. As it was, I knew he would try to find me and I knew that when he did, he would die. I killed Yukimaru years before he died at my hands, all because of what I'd failed to do.

"_That_ is the worst thing I have ever done," he finished. "And I've talked long enough. Get some sleep, Fuu."

—

She was wakened before dawn by the soft sound of water dripping onto the floor.

Fuu opened her eyes slowly; she'd been dreaming something about the dead boy, and for a moment she _saw_ him, carefully drawing his sword — she blinked, realizing it was Mugen, wiping down the longsword. He looked up as he set it alongside the scabbard, alerted by the change in her breathing. "Hey," he said quietly, before coming to crouch next to her makeshift pallet and peering into her face.

She reached up to touch his hair — it was damp, the long strands sticky with what felt like saltwater. "Where did you go?" she asked, sleepily. "Jouji said — "

"Out." Mugen pulled her hand away gently. "Go back to sleep."

"You're wet." She sat up. "What happened?"

"Nothing."

Ignoring him, Fuu touched her fingertips to the cloth of his haori; it was wetter still, the cold, sodden fabric clinging to him. "Why — " she stopped.

Jin was awake, she knew. He'd probably been awake before she was; she could feel the weight of his presence across the room, the air thick with the I-told-you-so that he'd never say out loud to her but which they both would hear. _I _will_ make this work_, she told him silently. _I will._

"Here," she said to Mugen instead, her voice barely audible. He sucked in a breath as her hands grasped the edge of his gi, but let her slip it off his shoulders; neither did he protest when she tugged the haori over his head. She got up and draped the wet clothing over one of the crates to dry, before taking the cotton cover from one of the bolts of silk and using that to towel him off.

He sat on the edge of the pallet, letting her fuss over him without a word, and she bit her lip. However he'd come to be this way in Deshima, it would have to wait until morning; only if there was something seriously wrong would he allow this, she thought, dismissing any idea of unrolling his sleeping mat for him. Jouji'd said a week, but they still couldn't afford for any of them to become ill.

"All right. Come on, you." Fuu pushed and prodded at him until he was on his side, then climbed onto the pallet herself. She lay down behind him. The skin of his arms had prickled with cold; she spooned around him, rubbing his arms briskly to warm him a little, before settling with her arm over his waist. Maybe _that_ would do it, she thought. He was so cold —

They lay there stiffly. Mugen had frozen into place the moment they'd come into contact — Fuu sincerely hoped he was going to start breathing again; could he actually die from holding his breath like that? There was no possible way that could be good, even if it didn't kill him — and she was rapidly discovering something about trying to sleep this close to someone that, despite her time in the brothel, she hadn't understood before.

This . . . was actually sort of _uncomfortable_.

The arm she'd draped over his waist wasn't too bad, but the size difference between them meant that her upper arm either had to rest on his ribs and leave her forearm hanging weirdly out from his chest, or that her forearm could rest against his waist and allow her hand to dangle with the fingers dangerously close to the front of his chopped-off hakama.

_Um_.

Her other arm was a more pressing problem, however. At the moment, she was lying on it, leading to a very disturbing numbness and an unhappy shoulder; if she stayed like that, her arm would probably fall off in the morning, and both of them would make that 'oh, _Fuu_' face she hadn't seen much since the days when they'd thought she hadn't known the name of the sunflower samurai, followed by some head shaking.

Slowly, Fuu eased her arm out from underneath, electing to slide it backward, rather than forward where it would be mashed flat between them; the arm rewarded her with a rush of sensation in her fingertips and wrist like being stabbed repeatedly with a sharp tanto. It felt better — having feeling return to her hand was a very good thing — but now that her arm was no longer underneath her, she'd sunk a handsbreadth lower behind him, resulting in her nose being flattened to the side against his hard shoulder blades and the hand canted out over his waist being yanked back.

Well, _crap_.

Obviously, the idiots who'd come up with the songs and stories she'd heard about handsome samurai and whores (and it was best to nip _that_ particular thought in the bud, she decided) hadn't known the first thing about how to manage the mechanics of lying on a semi-squashy surface with another person; the next time she heard some goze wittering on about two people lying clasped together, she was going to go up and kick the musician in the shins.

She made a dissatisfied grunt. There had to be a better way of going about this; people slept together all the time, for crying out loud. Maybe — once she settled the problem of what to do with the arm she'd been lying on, the other would fall into place.

_Hmm._

Thinking, Fuu squirmed away from his back a moment. He made a faint 'mmrhm' of protest at having the warmth at his back move away, but stopped when she pillowed her cheek on the still-tingling arm, now crooked underneath her head. _That_ seemed to work very well; she was comfortable, and the position allowed her to cuddle closely against him while still allowing secondary comforts, like breathing. _Very encouraging_, she cheered mentally. _Good girl, Fuu! Only one more arm to go!_

The main difficulty seemed to be that, if she put her arm over his, he was just that much _broader_ than she was, and her arm flopped around stupidly. If she could only — aha. She snaked the arm she'd been keeping around him under his; her elbow rested directly under his ribs, and her hand now lay against his chest.

It was pleasant, really — he was warming up, and it was soothing to feel the steady thump of his heart. Now that he was dry, too, the smell of him was a low languorous tickle in her nose: there was salt water, and the musky scent of his skin. There was something about it that prickled at the edge of her consciousness, but she couldn't quite pin it down; maybe in the morning — ? She was too tired to think about it now.

Slowly, his hand closed over hers, and she relaxed as his breathing evened out in sleep.

It _would_ work.

—

"Ah. Did it work?" Jinpachi set down his inkstone before looking up at his visitor.

"I think so. She's said nothing to me, but she's suspected for some time that he had a connection to you." The slight man raised his eyebrows, smiling gently. "It's a shame. He did serve the shogun well — just not in the way he thought he was."

"What did you do with him?"

"Our mother made sure Daigoro was buried according to the Christian rites," Matthew said. "Probably . . . not what he would have liked, but he was hardly able to complain."

The ninja chuckled. "Please, sit. I always enjoy seeing you. Your message said that you'd met Kasumi's daughter — your brother told me as much, but he knew nothing."

"No, he wouldn't have. But we did meet her, and the two yojimbo are still traveling with her. They're strong — I'd be unwilling to bet against either of them, but they have some weaknesses; the foreigner's temper gets the best of him with very little encouragement, and the ronin — " the Christian shrugged. "Two potential weaknesses, there: the girl, and he's a thinker. A hint of false information would be dangerous for him, rather than anything complete — he'd come up with a more convincing way to complete the puzzle on his own."

"I see. Do you know where they intended to go?"

"Nagasaki, but after that — " Matthew shook his head. "Couldn't say. Can't be Ikitsuki, or the ronin wouldn't have let her talk about it. Nagasaki makes more sense if they intend to leave the country, so that's my guess. They haven't been in contact with any of the Christians other than the foreign ones on Deshima, but . . . it's hard to tell what happened there. They were seen going in to see the Europeans, but then they came out again; very puzzling. The one from the Ryukyus was seen earlier with a woman, but the other two were nowhere to be seen."

"A woman?"

"Not a foreigner. Pretty, I heard; wearing a gold or orange kimono. They were arguing, according to the man who saw them — he left after the Ryukyuan tried choking her. Not one of the finer moments in bushido, for my source."

"Well." Jinpachi tapped a thoughtful finger against his chin. "They left Deshima and disappeared. How very interesting."

"It is, isn't it?" Matthew replied with perfect equanimity. "One could be forgiven for thinking that somehow the two things were related. I can see about a way into Deshima, if you'd like?"

"Thank you, but don't trouble yourself. It's already been done." Jinpachi's eyes twinkled merrily. "Even the smallest firefly can light a dark corner."

The Christian laughed. "I'll borrow that, if you don't mind. Mother will like the sentiment, especially if I don't tell her where it came from." He got to his feet and yawned. "These early mornings — I came in with your cook's boys, looking for work. Wonder if I found any?"

"How very terrifying, once you discovered who we were. Luckily, you made it out without anyone realizing you were a Christian."

"Yes, how lucky." Matthew stretched, the bones of his neck popping pleasurably. "Before I forget, do you want me to find out who the woman was?"

"No," Jinpachi told him. "I have some idea."

—


	29. Chapter 29

Disclaimer: I don't own _Samurai Champloo _or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Neither do I own the haiku of Matsuo Basho (translation by R.H. Blyth, this chapter).

A/N: Bad languages, adult situations, that sort of thing.

Many thanks to my fantastical beta, FarStrider, who is fabulous and puts up with my writing freakouts, and without whom this story would have degenerated into a weird parody of itself long ago. All the good stuff's hers, really.

_**Nenju**_

_XXIX. Goes no one;_

Stifling a yawn, Yatsuha rolled her shoulders and tried to remember the last time she'd had a full night's sleep. Weeks ago, maybe months — it had been right before she and Hankichi'd caught up with the Ryukyuan and his companions in Motomachi; how long ago had _that_ been? — and the constant watchfulness was beginning to take a toll on her. Anyone who'd had as little rest as she'd had was bound to do stupid things, she told herself. Any ninja knew that, and knew enough to rotate fresh teams in whenever possible to replace ones who'd been in the field for extended missions. It minimized the chance of stupid mistakes.

Certainly, any well-rested ninja would have been bright enough to keep from fucking the man they were following.

Hankichi, for instance, would have been able to avoid that trap easily, she decided; of course, there was that big mole that probably would have put Mugen off him. That, and the likelihood that Hankichi had a penis, deeply disturbing thought.

She smiled, looking down at her hands, rather than at either of the two men who were deep in conversation; Jinpachi liked Hankichi, she knew, and thought of him as a good ninja, which was the highest praise possible from her father. He would have been pleased if she'd taken up with Hankichi — and her mother would have been _ecstatic_ at the idea of arranging the marriage, and then at dandling fat (though hopefully mole-free) babies on her lap. Hankichi wouldn't have been his son by blood, but . . . he would have been an acceptable substitute.

He probably would _not_ have understood how his daughter could have picked a criminal from the Ryukyus who'd committed multiple felonies over a Man with a Future: understandable, really. Yatsuha wasn't particularly clear on that, herself.

It _was_ clear to her, however, that her father wanted to finish this up, from the way he was politely nodding at the younger man as he made his report as to where he hadn't found the Kasumi girl and her companions.

"Hm." Jinpachi laced his hands together over his belly, leaning away from his writing desk, once Hankichi had finished speaking. "I met one of the foreign monks, once. Interesting man. He told me a story about an emperor of theirs from long ago, who realized they key to victory was to divide his enemies and then conquer them."

"Divide?"

"Set them at each other's throats, and they will be that much weaker," the older man said. "They'll be too busy fighting each other to notice you have them in the palm of your hand."

Hankichi frowned. "How — I'm not sure it's possible, to divide the girl and her yojimbo. The ronin, especially; he'll know if we try something like that."

"Given enough time, it's possible to turn a man against anyone," Jinpachi said placidly. "It's not necessary to divide them, when there's an easier way." His eyes expectant, he beamed at them both.

Oh, she _hated_ these little tests.

"The foreigners?" she asked. "But something's bound to happen before we could drive a wedge between them. If we had more time, maybe."

"Hm. It's obvious that's where they must be, yes. But I can see we need to spend some more time studying the Europeans. Possibly something more formal — a course of Dutch studies, perhaps? Their history in this country would be helpful to you," her father said, scribbling a note for himself before setting the brush back down. "It might be worth looking into. No, I meant the Christians."

"How?"

"There is more than one kind, apparently. The ones in this country are the same sort as the Portuguese traders and their monks, but the foreigners at Deshima are different. Don't — " Jinpachi held up his hand as Hankichi opened his mouth, "— ask me how they're different, all that I know for sure is that they _are_. Apparently, the two kinds are prone to making war on each other: _very_ useful, for our purposes."

Yatsuha shook her head. "But they're in Deshima. They've got to be. How can the two kinds be used against each other? The Europeans are locked up tight, they don't have anything to do with the Christians here. Unless you plan to lure them out?"

Jinpachi's eyes twinkled. "Of course not. We have nothing they want," he said, as they looked at him blankly. "But we do have something the Europeans would be reluctant to give, and a way to get it to them."

—

Weirdly, the first thing Mugen saw when he opened his eyes was a stack of wooden crates, the last thing he'd seen when he'd closed them the night before. He grunted blearily — it felt like his mouth had been filled up with rotting leaves, or fish scales or something equally disgusting, but not to the extent it would have been if he'd been blind drunk the night before. How was it that he was lying in the same position he'd fallen asleep in? That never happened, not ever, not even on Ikitsuki.

The writing on the crates — and how did the Europeans _read_ that? He thought he recognized the character for 'no', but the rest of the markings had him at a loss. There was one that sort of looked like the torii gates that led to shrines — still in front of him, Mugen tried rolling upright, only to find that he was held fast to his makeshift futon by something heavy.

There was something incredibly warm against his back; it took a moment before he realized that this something was also _breathing_, and memory of the night before came flooding back.

Oh.

Right.

She was still holding onto him in her sleep, her fingers curled loosely against his ribs; carefully, he loosened her grip — there wasn't any reason to wake her, and if she was asleep, the ronin would keep any questions about where Mugen had been the night before to himself for fear of waking her — and turned onto his back.

Fuu grumbled something and clutched at him reflexively, twining round him like a tenacious pink vine. It was hard to keep from smiling a little; she'd never been at her best first thing in the morning, and her hair was sticking out in the back in a manner that could only be described as . . . uh. Hilarious?

Mugen reached up and smoothed it back into place, before letting his fingers drift through the glossy hair behind her ear. In the time she'd walked away from them at the crossroads, she'd gone from skinny pest to a soft, pretty girl; he was shrewd enough to know it had probably begun before they'd separated, but he hadn't seen it then.

She was brave, strong, resourceful, smelled good — well, most of the time, anyway — and from the slope of her hip as it curved away into her thigh, a night passed in her futon would be gratifying. And? She'd chosen him over Jin.

Yeah.

He was screwed.

—

Fuu woke only when Jouji clattered in.

She made a face as Mugen watched, her eyes scrunched shut against the sunlight as she stretched; he grunted as her elbow smacked him in the back — ow! — and she stopped dead. He gave her the widest, toothiest grin he could muster as her eyes snapped open, before reaching down to pat her ass. "Thought you didn't want to, in front of Jin," he murmured. "If you changed your mind — "

"You were _cold_, you jerk. And your feet were freezing." She swung her legs off the pallet, tugging her kimono lower over her calves. The ronin was up, he saw, the man's eyes fixed on the wall with apparent interest; Jouji, oblivious to the fact that Jin was looking everywhere but at Fuu, was opening a box he'd carried in, full of —

"You brought food!" Mugen shot off the pallet as the big man began handing out bowls filled with noodles and vegetables in broth.

"Also, I thought you might like the chance to bathe," Jouji said mildly. "It has been a while, yes?"

"A real bath? Oh, Jouji — " Fuu looked ready to faint, or throw herself at the foreigner in an enormous hug. "Now?"

"Not yet." The European's eyes gleamed. "How long do you think you will need?"

Fuu considered a moment, then said, "Jin and Mugen can go together, if that's all right, then I'll go after them. But someone's going to see us going in, aren't they?"

"Ah. I can't stay here very long this morning without someone noticing, but I think it may be time for Pieter and I to practice our entertainment," Jouji said. "It's necessary that we have an audience for this — as many people as possible, so that we're used to performing in front of a large number of people. We would not want to disgrace ourselves in front of the shogun, after all."

Jin raised an enquiring eyebrow. "Entertainment?"

"Once a year, we go to Edo to meet with the shogun. That was where I was supposed to be, when I met all of you." Jouji smiled. "We talk a little of trade, and then we sing some songs from my country, perhaps a few dances. We're there to entertain, more than to discuss business."

Mugen snickered, the idea of a row of officials sitting politely through an extended bout of Jouji-style enthusiasm striking him as deeply funny. "You're gonna make them listen to you sing?"

"My deputy could use the practice. It may be necessary for us to go through some songs a few times," the European said. "He has great difficulty with the high notes in 'Greensleeves' . . . it's not Dutch, but a favorite of the shogun's. Perhaps not of the interpreters, but then hearing one song fifty or sixty times will do that. Or it could be because we're not very good."

It was impossible to resist. Mugen let out a loud laugh, as Fuu choked on a mushroom and began to giggle; Jin gave a sharp, single chuckle. Jouji grinned back at them — it wasn't _that_ funny, but after the past few weeks, any light moment was a treasure.

"Fortunately, it will keep everyone occupied for some time," he said, once Fuu's giggles had subsided into the occasional hiccup. "There will still be guards at the gate, but if you are careful, you won't be seen. There are workmen coming to build a new, stone bridge that will connect us to Japan, so they should be kept busy with them."

"Thank you." Jin chewed, swallowed. "Do the others know we are here?"

"The rest of the Dutch?" Jouji shook his head. "No. My deputy, Pieter, knows of you but not that I have you _here_. I'm sure he suspects, but he would never ask me outright. I will need to tell one of the ships' captains, of course, when you decide where you should go. You do have a few days before then — the ships' crews are only now being questioned by the government's officials, but once they've finished, the ships will sail."

Mugen scratched his back luxuriously, the meal warm and solid in his stomach. "How does that work? They bring this in, unload, then they're back out?"

Jouji nodded. "For the most part, yes. The Company makes no profit from the ships while they're anchored in the harbor here, so they don't stay for long — two or three days, usually, then we'll have a group of approved merchants in to bid on the cargo, and we do our buying then," he said. "This time — the government is moving more slowly than they would normally, so it may be as long as four days. I doubt it would be longer: we may be confined to Deshima, but the shogun has a direct interest in what we can do for him."

"I see." The ronin set aside his bowl. "How have you kept everyone out of this building? You must have needed to make some excuse."

The European gestured at a stack of crates. "That is my personal shipment — it's expected of us that we have things shipped here, that we trade of our own accord. There's a good market for Dutch books, which is what I have brought in: not just novels, but more informative books as well. I think this shipment is of books on the physical arts, the movement of blood through the body and things of that nature. The more useful a book is, the higher price it will bring at market," he said. "Advance knowledge of _which_ books I have would give the merchants an unfair advantage, so it's not surprising I try to keep others out of the warehouse where they're stored."

"Four days, maybe," Mugen said, rubbing his chin as he ignored the last point. If they were putting to sea — nah. Jin would probably want to shave, but it was hardly worth the effort. "And they go south?"

"To Batavia, yes."

The Ryukyuan nodded. "What's keeping your captain from turning us over?"

"I am. Also, the man I have in mind must go back home for some time. There is a question of a son in Rotterdam, born during the second year of a three-year voyage — he will be pleased to take you anywhere you wish to go."

"As long as it's south?"

"As long as it's south."

—

The water was already steaming by the time they got there.

Mugen was amused to see that Jouji had adopted his new country this completely; the baths were a little bigger, but were otherwise a lush duplicate of the one at Fuu's rice merchant's home back in Kyoto. He shucked off his clothes and scrubbed himself vigorously with a sponge, cadging a piece of pumice off Jin and scouring his hands twice before stepping into the water.

The ronin sluiced water over his back neatly, rinsing the soap off himself before he got into the soaking tub across from Mugen.

The Ryukyuan gave him a sour grin. "Enjoy it while you can — don't know how many more of these you'll have for a while."

"Mm," Jin agreed, closing his eyes. "There are no baths in Ryukyu?"

Mugen made a halfhearted obscene gesture; damn, he was tired. "Since when did we decide it was Ryukyu? I miss something?"

Even with his eyes closed, the ronin could still give off The Look, the one that made Mugen want to burp or pick his nose as rudely as possible. "About Ryukyu? No."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mugen's eyebrows drew together. The longer he'd sat at the counter the night before, the more he'd gone in circles about what the hell was going on with them; they hadn't sounded like they thought of each other as friends, but — shit. Fuu hadn't sounded as if she even liked the other man. Not that _that_ meant anything, he knew.

"She's no fool," Jin told him. "And neither is the other one."

Mugen grunted. "So, what then? I already knew that."

The ronin was quiet a moment, then: "She has her own reasons for being this stubborn, but those will only take you so far. It would be incredibly foolish to throw her away for a woman you've met a handful of times, who may have killed Bundai and would kill you as well."

The Ryukyuan shook his head. "I'm starting to think it wasn't her. Maybe the old guy, or the guy with the mole. She'd think it was rude or something, I dunno. It just wouldn't be like her."

"Hn."

"Anyway, you tried killing me a lot, so I don't see why you're bitching."

"Fuu would cry. And it would be tedious if you were to die as stupidly as you live."

"That's good, coming from you." Mugen submerged himself one last time, then climbed out of the tub, wiping water from his face.

The ronin's eyebrows lifted. "If you intend to keep this from Fuu, you'll need to be more careful than that," he said, nodding toward the bite mark on Mugen's hip as he got out.

"You gonna tell her?"

"No." Neatly, Jin wrung the water out of his hair, before leaving it loose to dry.

"Why not?" Mugen asked, genuinely curious. "You'd get what you want."

"That isn't what I want." When Mugen gave him a questioning look, Jin added, "There's a difference between not yours and mine."

"You're an idiot."

"Hn." Jin turned his back and began to shave.

The Ryukyuan shrugged, and put on his clothes. The haori and gi had dried after Fuu had hung them up, but the salt from the ocean water scraped roughly against his skin; he shook the water out of his hair, running his fingers through the unruly mass. "She'll figure it out on her own, anyway."

"If she hasn't already." The ronin tied his hakama efficiently. "We do have other considerations, however."

"Like figuring out where we're going? Because that would be good."

"Ah," Jin acknowledged this with a dip of his head. "I meant the time until we're at sea. I doubt it's coincidence that the government is moving more slowly to allow the merchants in to bid."

"You ever met a fast civil servant?"

"Kariya."

"Huh. Yeah, I s'pose."

"And they're aware we're in Nagasaki — it's a matter of time before they can find a way in here," Jin said, as they slipped out the door. "We need to maintain our focus."

Mugen nodded. "Yeah."

"Hn."

They walked companionably past a building from which horrible sounds were issuing, almost like dogs being stepped on repeatedly, but worse. "You got any idea what the twins gave her?" Mugen asked.

"Absolutely no idea."

—

He had some respite from the questions he knew were coming when she hurried off for her bath, but not for long; as soon as Fuu set foot inside the warehouse, her hair clinging damply to her cheek, Jin nodded at him and set off to practice his kata at the other end of the building.

She crossed her arms over her chest. "You're a toad," she told him, conversationally. "You know that?"

He snorted. "Heard that before," he said. "You got a reason why?"

Fuu walked up to him; leaning in, she gave him an exaggerated sniff.

"Could've asked Jin, you wanted to know if I had a bath."

She stepped back. "I'm not sure which is worse," she said. "That you were doing something that made you smell so much like her that you_ knew_ I'd smell it unless you soaked yourself in the harbor, or that you tried to keep it from me."

Mugen shoved his hands in his pockets. "You sure about any of this?"

"I'm leaning more toward trying to keep it from me," she continued as if he hadn't spoken. "I could understand if you saw her and something happened. I know I haven't been — it's been a long time for you, I get that, so maybe I shouldn't complain. But trying to hide it? It makes me wonder if you want it to happen again."

He sighed and sat on the floor. The ronin was taking his sweet time, he thought sourly; polite bastard. "So, what now?"

Fuu reached out then and _flicked _him in the forehead, making him blink. The hell? "That depends on you," she said. "I'm not just going to hand you over, unless that's what you want."

"Mm." When it came down to it, Jin was right. Yatsuha was the shogun's creature through and through, he thought. What did he expect from a woman so intent on what she did that she'd willingly spend a year as a whore to do it — that she'd throw over her friends and her family to take up with a felon from Ryukyu? He was stupid even to have been drinking sake with her.

It wasn't as if Yatsuha'd been the one to dry him off and keep him warm while he slept.

Mugen held his hand out to her. "Fine," he said, as she sat down inside the semicircle of his arm. "Stubborn bitch."

She made a low, amused sound in her throat, wrinkling her nose.

He reached up and scratched his fingers affectionately through the hair at the nape of her neck. "Heard you and Jin talking last night, a little. Something you want to tell me?"

"Hm? No. We just talked."

"Sounded serious."

She cocked her head to the side, her eyebrows drawing together in puzzlement as she smiled. "You were listening?"

"Not long."

Fuu shook her head. "It wasn't — we talked about his dojo, a little. That was all," she told him.

"Huh." His fingers slowed, as he looked at her thoughtfully.

He wondered if she even knew that she was lying.

—


	30. Chapter 30

Disclaimer: I don't own _Samurai Champloo _or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Neither do I own the haiku of Matsuo Basho (translation by R.H. Blyth, this chapter).

A/N: A note regarding place names — Waegwan is Pusan, in old clothes. The Kingdom of Tungning existed for about ten years or so during the time of the telling of this story; readers will know it better as Taiwan, and yes, a Japanese army did attempt to invade it in 1592 and were unsuccessful, owing to malaria and cholera going through the army like Fat Albert through a box of Twinkies. (Remember, kids, only attempt to invade foreign countries under adult supervision!)

As always, beta'ed by FarStrider, who is made entirely of sparkly win.

_**Nenju**_

_XXX. This autumn evening_

Gingerly, Inuyama pulled his arm from underneath the foreign man's head.

The chief factor of the Dutch East India Company's Japanese branch murmured something nearly intelligible in his sleep on being disturbed; he settled back into regular deep breathing, his deep chest rising and falling with the regularity of one of the foreigners' clocks. The smaller man smiled. It had sounded almost as if he'd asked for water, in Japanese.

It had been easy to civilize the foreigner, as he'd been charged with doing when he'd given up being an assassin for hire in favor of taking the government's money. It was like leading a thirsty horse to a stream, he thought; the only danger was in keeping the horse from taking in more than was good for him. Given that he'd had almost continual access to the foreign man — made easier still when it turned out that the man shared the same preferences at the pillow as Inuyama, and was enthusiastic about taking a retired assassin to his bed — he'd managed to turn the man into an asset, rather than a performing dog.

Inuyama yawned. Nearly morning, and there were only two more days that the ships could be kept in the harbor: any longer than that, and the Europeans would begin to complain. Much longer, and the Europeans might consider cutting off the flow of goods and information, which had proved to be so useful, and he'd be out of a job he enjoyed. Really, he reflected, who could have known that he would find teaching to be so rewarding —

The European in his futon stretched, blinking his eyes open sleepily. "You're awake early," he said, those big hands reaching for Inuyama.

He allowed Isaac to tug him back down, twining over the European's hip and thighs. "I suppose that ridiculous performance yesterday was for my benefit," he said. "Was it really necessary to repeat that horrible song that often?"

"Yes." Isaac closed his eyes, the smile ghosting over his face the only indication that he noticed the subtle way Inuyama was rubbing slowly against his side. "Horrible song, indeed — a king composed that song. It's about a faithless lover."

"If he was king, why would his lover be unfaithful?" Inuyama shook his head. "Foolish."

"Sometimes a song is just a song," the foreign man said. "You don't think it's possible to serve two masters? I would have thought you'd be sympathetic."

Inuyama exhaled. "I've always been honest with you about who sent me here," he told Isaac. "Do you really think any of us would be allowed near you, if we weren't approved by the government?'

"Mm." The European moved his head gently against the pillow.

"Anyway, I would need to be as foolish as your king's unfaithful lover to want to jeopardize my place here. I'm very happy as I am."

"Good." The blue eyes opened, their paleness making them all the more startling.

"And you know enough about me that you could denounce me, as much as I could you. So really, you can tell me anything." Lazily, the smaller man began to undo his juban as Isaac watched.

"You think so?"

"I know so." Inuyama leaned in to bite gently at the man's shoulder, before propping himself on an elbow. The European wasn't_ that_ ugly, just — exotic, he decided, as he rubbed his palm over the thick layer of muscle at the man's middle. The color of his hair and the strange boniness of his face could even be thought pleasing, if looked at in the right way; if nothing else, the idea of an army of warriors that were all the same size and strength as the European was intriguing. They'd need subtlety, of course — "Speaking of denouncing, will you need me this afternoon? I would like to attend Mass."

Isaac laughed, his breath quickening as the other man's hand moved in a more promising direction. "If I can have you this morning, I don't mind," he said. "Attend two, if you want." He gasped suddenly.

Inuyama chuckled, darting fingers easing away to scrape lightly over the other man's stomach with his short nails. "Maybe I'll have you this morning instead."

Isaac's eyes gleamed. "I wouldn't mind that, either."

—

_Idiot_.

Why had he agreed, when the European had offered the warehouse to them?

This place made him nervous. There were two of those odd, solid doors — they'd be a distinct advantage for a defense, they'd repel all but the most determined attacks, but it would be very easy to become a prisoner behind them — and those ridiculously small windows, useless for anything except letting in very little fresh air and revealing a light inside to anyone who cared to look. Similarly, the walls were a sturdy mix of wood and plaster, which would keep thieves out but were completely impractical in a land so prone to the earth quaking underfoot.

The opposite side of keeping a threat out was to become trapped by one's own defenses, Jin thought. Mariya-dono would have had a great deal to say about that.

_Seven, eight, nine_ . . . he counted paces, measuring the inside wall of the warehouse, as Fuu's voice faded into a pleasant background noise, punctuated by Mugen's deeper rasp. She wasn't shouting, even though she had to have been talking to him about that woman.

The thought that he could encourage the other man in his pursuit of the pretty whore (try as he might, he couldn't think of her as anything else; what sort of ninja watched from the side during a fight?) crossed his mind briefly, and was almost as quickly discarded. Not only would Fuu never forgive him — and she would find out, she always did seem to know him and Mugen better than they knew themselves, somehow — but his own sense of honor dictated that he keep quiet. It would be underhanded, and sly, and worthy only of the worst sort of sneak —

— and he really, _really_ wanted to do it.

_Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen_ . . .

If nothing else, it would force her to realize how wrong she'd been, in trying to fulfill a duty to Mugen that hardly existed in the first place. He'd come back for her in the brothel? Fine. She'd saved his life again, and again; that surely released her from any duty she might have had.

And why was his duty to her any less important than her duty to Mugen? Or her duty to herself?

_Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two._

He turned, counting his paces as he walked back along the length of the wall.

And why did he think there was even the remotest possibility of changing her mind?

_Idiot_.

—

Changing Fuu's mind, however, would perhaps be easier than changing Mugen's.

—

"You know better than I do what our options are," Jin said, carefully schooling his tone. "Setting aside Ryukyu for the moment, where then?"

Mugen made a face, digging in his ear with a long, knobbed finger. "Jouji said the ships went south, so we gotta think about that. Definitely knocks out Waegwan, 'cause that's west and it's a bad idea anyway, since the shogun beat us to it and the locals are still kinda pissed off about that — whole country'd be like the Hakone checkpoint. There's the mainland — I've only ever been to Wenzhou and Hangzhou, but pirates like those towns and I think Hangzhou used to burn down a lot. It might be all right, further upriver, but I don't know for sure. I'd avoid Wenzhou anyway — I dunno what those people speak, but it's not anything I ever heard before. I think most of 'em are just making shit up."

"I see."

"There're some big islands to the far south, Tungning and that, but further south than that you start to hit places where no one lives, which got snakes big as you and all kinds of shit animals that eat people."

"Can we decide that the places with giant snakes are off the list?" Fuu asked, leaning forward. "Because that sounds kind of _bad_."

"Course, there's that Batavia place, wherever that is," Mugen continued, ignoring her. "I ain't ever been there, but if the ships sail there regularly, then it can't be that bad. Regular-type port, sounds like it'd be too big for pirates to attack, plus there'd be enough foreigners there that no one'd notice us."

"Tungning . . . " Jin said. It had been mentioned in passing during his lessons at the dojo, but was — "That is very near the mainland, with Europeans there until recently?"

"They were there until maybe ten or fifteen years ago, yeah."

"Ah. Takasago Koku," he said to the Ryukyuan. "The country of high sand. I will not take Fuu there."

"Why not?"

"Before the Tokugawa came to power, Toyotomi Hideyoshi attempted to invade the island with an army. They were defeated — not by an enemy, though those who lived there fought against them — but by disease, the sleeping sickness. I won't take her away from here only so that she can die." The ronin turned to the girl. "It's led by rebels from the mainland — it's a matter of time before they go to war again. You wouldn't be safe."

Mugen crossed his arms. "So that leaves Batavia."

"And Ryukyu," Jin reminded him.

The Ryukyuan gave a cranky grunt.

Fuu had been unusually quiet most of the evening, since he'd discreetly left them alone together. Now, she shivered, rubbing her arms in a way that had nothing to do with how the sun had baked its warmth into the wood and plaster of the walls. "Fine. But once we get wherever we're going — " she started. "I mean, we talk and talk about where we're going to go, but we never say anything about what we're going to do when we _are_ there."

The two men exchanged glances. "Even after we pay for our passage, I believe there should be enough to buy a small house, with a little left over," the ronin said. "You . . . could live there." _With Mugen_, he added silently. _Not me_. _Don't ask that of me._

"And what, leave you to sleep on the beach?" she asked. "No, it's not that — anyway, that money belongs to all of us, so it would be as much your house as mine. I meant, what would you do in Ryukyu or this Batavia place? I keep trying to think what I could do, but I don't know. I can waitress, and then there's dice, but what if there aren't any teahouses or anything?"

"Ryukyu is far away, but not completely foreign. There would be _something_. And language isn't a barrier for you," Jin said to Mugen. "Not all the islands are prison colonies."

"Not all of 'em," Mugen answered grudgingly. "But they still pay tribute to the shogun, even when they aren't."

"Mm." That could be managed, Jin thought. They'd calculated that two hundred ryu would be enough; surely, it would be sufficient to cover any bribes that would ensure that she was untroubled, even in Ryukyu. Mugen wouldn't be able to be there all the time, and that . . . that would be an extra assurance of her safety.

Yes, that would be best.

He shoved the tiny voice at the back of his mind down, the one that nagged at him that handing her over to the Ryukyuan wasn't _right_, down somewhere in with all the other things he would have locked in a chest and thrown with great pleasure into the deepest well he could find. The tiny voice, the one that whispered that Mugen would never take care of her as she deserved, _needed_ to be crushed; it belonged with his memories of Mariya-dono's face at the precise moment Jin had run him through, the strangest expression of surprise and pain and something like approval, all twisted together. It belonged with the shrill note of panic in Fuu's voice when she'd thought him leaving her to go to Shino.

Leaving her . . . there was something about Fuu and leaving that uncoiled in the pit of his stomach, but it slipped out of his grasp whenever he tried thinking about it. He set that aside for later — if anything, there was plenty of time in the warehouse for him to attempt to meditate. Mugen was stubbornly clinging to the idea of going anywhere that wasn't Ryukyu, but the more Jin heard of their other options, the more convinced he was that Ryukyu was the _only _place they could go: hopefully Jouji would bring the ship's captain to them, soon.

—

"He's gone, isn't he," she said quietly.

"Mm."

"I know he went to see her, Jin."

The ronin raised his eyebrows. "Why do — ?"

"I keep dreaming about my father," Fuu told him. "Did I ever tell you that?"

"No."

"I've had the same dream for years — I'm in the middle of a field and all I can see are sunflowers: they're so much taller than I am and I realize I'm a little girl again. I'm out there because I'm looking for something I've lost, and then he's there. He doesn't say anything, he just walks away from me and no matter how fast I run, it's never enough."

"How old were you when he left?"

Jin heard the cloth of her kimono whisper against the cotton covering the silk as she shrugged. "I don't know. Six?"

He thought about it. His parents had died within weeks of each other; he could hardly remember them, but he could remember the sight of his mother's kimono being packed away as if the silk was right in front of him. If that was how her father had left them, it was no wonder she was dreaming about it. "You know why you dream about it," the ronin said. "Especially now."

"I can't undo it, Jin," she told him, tiredness coloring her voice. "You're better off with anyone else. You deserve some nice woman, who'll make you tempura and keep your clothes clean and who's never seen a foreigner in her life. She'd make sure you have fat grandchildren at your knee, who you can tell about the girl who tricked you into taking her to Nagasaki and ended up with a pirate who cheated on her every chance he got."

He snorted. "The Fuu I know would not waste her time on self-pity."

"Maybe you don't know her all that well, then," she shot back. "Anyway, it's not self-pity, I'm just being honest. This way, I can make sure he's all right, and that's enough for me. If there were two of me, I could — but there's not."

"No one is born so that they exist only to serve another," Jin told her strongly. "You aren't responsible for anyone's happiness but your own."

"No? So why are you still here?"

He narrowed his eyes. "You know why."

Fuu made a little grumping noise that was impossible to read, and even trying to figure out what had brought on this fit of — whatever it was — was making him dizzy, or angry, or some combination of the two that filled his mouth with the bitter taste of bile.

"If you want to throw yourself away, fine," he said slowly, deliberately. "If you want me to be _pleased_ that that is what you're doing, you will be disappointed."

"Sometimes I hate you," she told him, swallowing.

Jin nodded. "Ah."

—

They were staying in a shabby inn near the waterfront; he tapped politely against the door's wooden frame, even though it had been thrown open to let a pool of sunlight in to where the old woman was sewing.

She looked up at the sound and smiled, her hand going automatically to neaten the loose knot of hair at the base of her skull. "Inuyama," Maria greeted him. "It's been too long. You look tired — have you been getting enough sleep?"

He stooped to allow her to fuss over him, folding a packet of tea from the continent into her hands. "I was very sorry to hear what had happened," he said. "Nagasaki is so dangerous at night, now — "

She nodded. "Matthew has been such a comfort, I don't know what I would do without him. I know he misses his brother, too — it will be so good for him to see you, it'll take his mind off it."

"Is he here? I can't stay for long, but I wanted to be sure you were both all right."

"He's off getting water. We can have it with your wonderful tea," she told him, sniffing luxuriously at the packet. "We're going to visit some other Christians this evening. Would you like to come with us? They're having a service — not a Mass, of course, but I don't like to miss any chance these days."

"So sorry, no." Inuyama shook his head. "I'm on my way back to Deshima. I work for the foreigners, now."

"Foreigners?" Matthew appeared, carrying a pot full of hot water. He set it down carefully, before looking up at the other man with a grave smile. "What do you do for them?"

Inuyama paused, before giving him a broad smile. "Nothing very exciting — the foreigners need someone to arrange travel permits for merchants, that sort of thing. Actually, that's where I heard you were here."

"Oh?" Maria finished adding the leaves to steep and replaced the lid of the teapot.

"I met some people you know — the daughter of Kasumi Seizo, and her two companions," Inuyama remarked. "I didn't see them for very long, but one of them mentioned he'd seen Erasmus not long before . . ." He trailed off awkwardly.

"At Deshima?" She looked at him, shocked. "But — they knew the foreigners are Dutch?"

Inuyama shrugged. "I would think. They apparently knew the chief factor very well; if I'm not mistaken, they're staying with him while they're here. Not at Ikitsuki, where Kasumi-san had his house — very strange, but I'm sure they have a good reason."

Maria sat with her mouth pursed as she thought, and the teapot at her side completely forgotten.

"Now, I really must go. The foreigners are very demanding," Inuyama said.

Matthew made a face of regret. "If you're going back to Deshima, I'll walk with you some of the way. I want some of that castella with our tea," he said, as Maria nodded. The two men left, carefully discussing the wickedness of the price of sugar as they walked out of the inn's dusty courtyard.

When the inn was five buildings behind them, Inuyama gave the other man a dirty look. "'What do you do for the foreigners?'" he mimicked. "I'm tempted to denounce you, the next fumi-e I see."

"Oh, please do. I can't begin to tell you how noisy that inn is — I haven't had a decent night's sleep since Daigoro died," Matthew said absently. "At least I could have a few hours, in a cell. And now I'm going to be dragged around to every Christian house in Nagasaki, talking about Seizo and how his daughter has taken up with not just any heretics, but _Dutch_ ones: what fun. I take it that that was deliberate?"

Inuyama rolled his eyes. "Must you ask?"

"Mmrhm. If you wanted to give the girl a bad name, you couldn't have chosen better," Matthew told him. "The next thing I'll hear is how she was actually on one of the Dutch ships, one of the same ones used at Shimabara, and how it's doubtful that those two men she's with are her yojimbo at all. Hardly any better than a common prostitute, I'm sure, Seizo must be weeping bitter tears. Am I missing anything, do you think?"

"No, I think that should do."

The Christian cocked his head. "Should I ask if there's anything I can do to help?"

Inuyama shook his head. "Thank you, but no. I want to cut off any means of escape she might have with the Christians, but I still want to keep you from becoming too involved. Jinpachi likes you. I'm sure he'll have other work for you in the future."

"If you're sure?" When the other man nodded, Matthew shrugged. "I'll be sure to mention the Dutch when we're out tonight. It'll be a nice change and a good idea to take a break from turning Christians in, probably. They're not bad people, but it wouldn't be good if people started to realize that a visit from my mother meant that the shogun's men were following her to their door."

"As long as you're sure she doesn't know."

"Mm. Very sure — I'm careful," Matthew said. "I don't mind not doing it. I only ever got into this so that Dai and I could save our mother at Ikitsuki, and it just . . . _grew_, from there." They had reached the shop with the castella, and the Christian nodded a goodbye before ducking inside.

Inuyama looked up, judging the position of the sun in the sky. One errand done with, he thought, but he still needed to stop in at the government's offices, and then he'd promised to buy some matsutake, as long as he was out . . . he clicked his tongue, irritated with himself.

Honestly, who would have thought that arranging for the arrest and execution of three people would cut into his day_ this_ much?

—


	31. Chapter 31

Disclaimer: I don't own _Samurai Champloo _or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Neither do I own the haiku of Matsuo Basho (translation by R.H. Blyth, this chapter).

A/N: Fangirl Dutch alert! Vliegende Draeck translates roughly to 'flying dragon', with great emphasis on the rough; Dutch isn't one of my languages. (Although I am fluent in nerd.)

As always, beta'ed by FarStrider: all the good stuff's hers.

_**Nenju**_

_XXXI. It is deep autumn_

Yatsuha yawned and scratched her shoulder indolently, before reaching to brush her fingertips over the three parallel scars on his cheek. "I keep meaning to ask you about these and forgetting," she said.

"Eh?" He opened his eyes fully, making an effort to wake up from the pleasant stupor he'd been in since they'd collapsed into a sweaty pile of limbs on the threadbare futon. "Got 'em last time I was here."

"Here?" She grinned, gesturing toward the center of the inn's tiny room, the tatami strewn with clothing. "Funny, I don't remember doing that to you."

Mugen chuckled. "Dumb broad. They'd be on my back, if it was you."

She raised her eyebrows at him, reaching down to cup his ass and squeezing it for emphasis. "Funny, I thought your back was farther up . . . " she told him, with an air of mock gravity. "Really. What happened?"

He shrugged. "There were these three brothers, Satsuma han, taking a sugar ship from Ryukyu to Kagoshima — I was part of a crew that hit the ship its first night out. I didn't kill 'em, but they got pretty messed up; the han blamed them for losing the ship, so they came looking for me," he said. "The crazy one got my face."

"And this one?" Yatsuha cupped her palm against his side.

"That was the brother who couldn't walk any more."

She laughed. "A man who couldn't _walk_ got you? Did he wait until you were sleeping?"

He snorted. "He _shot_ me — you don't need to walk to be able to use gunpowder."

"Really?" Yatsuha slid lower to look at the puckered scar with interest, tracing the edges of the shiny skin. "It looks a little like someone ran you through, but the shape isn't right for that . . . what about this one?" She placed an open-mouthed kiss on the thin silvery line that stretched diagonally from his ribs down to the bony ridge of his hip on the opposite side. "This looks like this came from something with a blade — a long knife, maybe."

"Uh." Mugen swallowed. "That . . . yeah. Blind assassin." His eyelids drooped heavily as his hips jerked against her. _Yes yes yes_ —

"Blind?" She looked up, interested, her eyebrows drawn together in puzzlement as she smiled. "I've heard about people like that. How did he fight?"

He raised his head: wasn't she — _aw, shit._ "She. One of yours."

"One of mine?"

"Government hired her."

"Mm." She laced her hands together across his bare stomach and rested her chin on them. "I never met anyone like that, but it's possible. There was a man my father knew that used to train assassins — I think he had a student who was a woman, but I don't know if she was blind."

Abandoning all hope of anything further happening, Mugen sighed and idly caught a lock of her hair in his fingers. He'd liked the pretty musician: she'd been strong, the kind of strong that didn't take shit from anyone and wasn't going to back down from any man, tanner or shogun. He would have gone with Sara willingly if Fuu had asked him, instead of Jin, and very probably he would have been dead instead of alive.

She'd been a lot like the woman whose futon he was in now, he realized.

"So why aren't _you_ trying to kill me?" he asked, winding her glossy hair around his hand.

"You think I'm not?"

"Figured you'd be more direct about it than this."

Yatsuha made a face, before blowing on his stomach to make the line of fine hair leading from his navel flutter. "I'm supposed to," she said. "I said I'd kill you if I saw you. If I was Hankichi, I'd have my knife out right now."

"You were Hankichi, you wouldn't be here," he commented, giving her hair a light tug. "So, what then? You're not gonna do it?"

"I'll have to try to, at some point. But I wanted this first," she said, her hand tracing lazy circles over his skin. "I did promise."

"Mm." Mugen grinned at her — the afternoon _was_ beginning to look up, after all — before flipping her onto her back neatly, his hand still caught in her hair. "So tell me more about what you wanted."

"I was thinking." She drew her foot over the long plane of his thigh.

"Uh-oh."

"Your name means 'endless' . . . "

"Yeah?"

"I really don't see it, myself."

"Hell of a time to complain," he said, raising himself on an elbow to eye her coldly. "And that ain't — "

"No, not _that,_" she corrected, then sighed in an exaggerated fashion. "I suppose, I'd be distracted too . . . but it'd be nice to have something that wasn't a quickie." Yatsuha gave him a sly glance.

His grin widened. _Oh._ "Ah," he said. "Maybe we can work something out."

—

The moon was low in the evening sky by the time he left, an agreeable tiredness all through his bones. With any luck, Jouji would have brought something to eat by the time he got in, and he'd talked Yatsuha into giving up the rice powder; he was going to sleep like the dead tonight — as far as hiding places went, Nagasaki wasn't the worst place to have one.

He waited until the guard changed shifts, then made his way across the water as twilight deepened into night. They'd built Deshima to keep people out, but hadn't taken highly determined pirates into consideration; he scaled the wall quietly, landing behind the row of warehouses.

The ronin's soft voice came out of the dark. "You came back."

"Yeah," Mugen said, irritated. "Think I wouldn't?"

"Hn." Jin walked up to him. "What you do is your own business unless it causes difficulties. He's here."

"Who, Jouji?"

The ronin shook his head. "The man with the ship."

—

The first thing that Mugen noticed about the man with the ship was that he was drunk, with the ease of a long familiarity with the bottle; his eyes were bloodshot, the whites surrounding the faded brown irises gone a pale yellow with age and sake. "So you're the one we were waiting for," the man said, before turning to Jouji, who was fiddling with the box he'd used to bring them food. "Late, and a pirate to boot. You keep strange company these days, chief factor."

Mugen 's eyebrows drew together; the man looked like he wouldn't survive a voyage, much less captain a ship."Who the hell are you?"

"Henrik Maurits, of the _Vliegende Draeck_," the man said. "The chief factor tells me the young lady and your quiet friend will be guests on my ship — I might agree to you too if he talks me into it, so don't push me, boy."

"How about — " The Ryukyuan hissed, as Jin jabbed him in the side with the hilt of his wakizashi; Mugen gave the ronin a vicious glare. _Someday, asshole, I am gonna stick that girl-sized sword right up your — _

Jin snorted._ You can try_.

The drunk man eyed them both skeptically, not missing any part of their wordless exchange, but let it go. "I take it all of you wish to leave here?"

Mugen frowned, as Fuu looked at him without answering. What, did she _still_ doubt him? "Yeah. All of us are going."

"Fine." Maurits nodded to himself. "Where?"

"Batavia," Mugen answered.

"Or Ryukyu," Jin added, ignoring the look the Ryukyuan was giving him. "There is some question as to which is more suitable."

The man shrugged. "I sail for Batavia, but Ryukyu is on the way there."

Fuu spoke at last, from where she had been sitting quietly next to Jouji. "You've been to Ryukyu? What's it like?"

Maurits' eyes lingered on Mugen with some amusement before answering. "Islands. A little different than this, but it depends on how far south you go. The islands in the north may be a poor choice for someone leaving from Nagasaki to go there; the southern islands are warmer."

The Ryukyuan gave him a grudging nod, and he continued. "Batavia's different. For one, there are more people. There are some Japanese — Christians, for the most part, but we mix very rarely with them — " The man hesitated, then went on. "Many Dutch. There were some English, but none these days — other ships, the prince and his court. All the world comes through Batavia."

"How far away is it?" Jin asked.

The man shook his head. "Not far. About a week to the northern Ryukyuan islands, a month or two to Batavia. I made the voyage once from Deshima to Batavia in three weeks, but there was typhoon at my back."

Mugen scratched himself thoughtfully. If he wasn't lying through his teeth, a week's time to Ryukyu meant either that the man's ship was a fast sailer, or that the captain himself knew what he was doing. If he had the balls to try and outrun a typhoon, chances were good it was probably a little of both.

"Are there snakes in Batavia?" Fuu's eyes were wide.

The European nodded cheerfully. "Some are bigger than you, I believe," he told her. "Our physician there is a devoted natural philosopher, who has made quite a pet out of a fine fat fellow who comes up to his sitting room window — Vlaminck feeds him on whole goats, though, so I suspect it's cupboard love. There are always stories of the ones upcountry being twice as long as your friend the samurai is tall, but I believe very little of what I hear."

She drew a deep breath, grimacing. "Ryukyu," she told them.

"Oi. Since when did — "

"I. Am. Going. To. Ryukyu," she enunciated slowly. "If you want to go to the place with the snakes, that's fine."

"There are snakes in Ryukyu too, you dumb broad," Mugen ground out. "There are snakes _everywhere_." He glared at the girl, who gave him an equally poisonous look in return; even the Europeans were pushing Ryukyu, what the hell was —

"Batavia may be a poor choice for many reasons," Jouji interrupted. "Henrik, must they decide this minute?"

The man shook his head. "Not if they will decide between the two. We sail in the same direction, no matter what."

"Good." Jouji looked relieved.

—

"What the hell is the matter with you?" Mugen snapped.

Jin had taken himself off to meditate or do his kata or something as soon as the Europeans had left; he'd given Mugen a speculative look, before excusing himself to Fuu, who had only nodded impatiently. She hadn't moved since telling Jouji and the other man good night, sitting as if she was waiting for someone.

Fuu looked up at him, the moon's light enough for him to see that she looked neither angry nor upset. "I'm an idiot," she said. "I feel like I'm the last one to figure out how stupid I am."

"What are you talking about?" he asked, knowing what the answer would be. She was going to tell him off, he knew. There might be some tears, maybe some shouting. She was remarkably calm, though, wearing what he thought of as her dice roller's face — when she looked like that, he thought, she was less readable than the ronin. Another one of those things samurai — hell, everyone in the whole damn _country_, he amended — did that he'd never figure out.

Instead, she sat with her hands resting open in her lap. "Do you even like her?"

Mugen frowned. Did he? It hadn't occurred to him that it was possible. Yatsuha was a capable fighter, and he liked the way the muscles in her back moved when she stretched, but like her -?

"Do you?"

"I don't know." He lowered himself to the floor alongside her. "Probably not."

"So why do you go?"

He dug in his ear thoughtfully, then: "The first time I went to sea was maybe thirteen, fourteen years ago. D'you remember I told you about that old guy in Ryukyu, knew my dad?"

Fuu nodded.

"He had a boat, used to go raid towns on the mainland. He was how I knew Mukuro and Kohza — Mukuro started out on raids with Wen, before he decided he could do better on his own.

"Anyway, I wasn't big enough to raise sails or do any of the work yet, so there wasn't much I could do. Wen started me off taking soundings — that's when you take a rope and tie one end to a weight; you know how long the rope is, so when you swing the weight over the side and feel it touch bottom, you can tell how deep the water is. If you know that, you can keep from gutting the boat, because for every rock you see there's another one you don't," Mugen said, before falling silent.

He hadn't thought of that in years — that particular job hadn't lasted long, once the old man had realized how quickly the scrawny boy picked things up: Wen had shown him once how the tiller worked, and from then on the task of steering automatically fell to Mugen, up until the time when he'd been sucked into the weasel's gang.

He closed his eyes. The heavy warmth of the warehouse was almost the same as the warmth of Ryukyu on a summer evening, like a damp, heavy blanket. The smells were wrong — here, there was the dustiness of an unlived-in building (though even that was blending strangely with the lingering smell of the food Jouji had brought them) and the exotic scent of the things that had come from the end of the world.

In Ryukyu, even the air was green; standing on the deck of Wen's boat, he'd always been able to smell the land before seeing it, sugarcane and ripe mangoes and sago forests, all lush and _alive_.

"I don't understand," Fuu said.

"Sometimes you don't know what's gonna happen," he told her, slowly. "Maybe . . . maybe what you have to do is be as ready as you can, and then you gotta know it ain't always enough."

She exhaled a long, frustrated breath. "I can't do this."

"Yeah." Maybe it would have been possible, back in that teahouse in Edo, when they were just a criminal and a clumsy waitress; but not any more. There had been too many miles, both for him and for her to ever see each other as more than what they were. "'M sorry," he said, cold filling his stomach. He thought that maybe it wasn't too late, maybe he could call back his words, maybe it could go back to the way it had been and he would belong _somewhere_ and this horrible sick hollowness would go —

"I wanted it to work, I really did,"she said thickly, and he saw she was fighting not to cry. "It would be all right, because it was _you_ and even if you spit in the flowers and picked your nose first thing in the morning, you always came for me." She scrubbed at her face with the back of her hand.

Tentatively, he reached out to touch her hair. She was still lovely, even with bloodshot eyes and sniffling, and he knew that for the rest of his life, he would never see her again as anything but beautiful; he knew, too, that for the rest of his life, he could never think of her as anything more or anything less than what she was. "You gonna be okay?"

Fuu blew her nose noisily on a piece of crumpled paper. "I guess," she said and gave him a watery smile. "Maybe I'll run off with Jouji."

"Yeah?" He tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "You'd have the ugliest kids ever."

She began to laugh, little hiccups as she looked up at him. "You are _such_ a jerk."

"'M serious. They'd be huge, and have this weird thing with squirrels and wasabi — "

"Will you just shut up?"

The corner of his mouth went up. "Back in Motomachi — "

She wadded the paper up into a tight ball, her eyes on what she was doing.

"You said I was your family, me and Jin," he said. "If you don't . . . " he trailed off awkwardly; he'd have rather faced an angry mob armed only with a handful of acorns than ask, but he wanted to know. If she was going to hate him, he wanted to know.

Slowly, she shook her head. "You're my family, no matter what. You and Jin, for the rest of my life."

Mugen nodded; there was a burning behind his eyes, what the hell — his mouth set in a tight line. "Yeah. I . . . should go find fish face," he told her. "There's that thing."

"Yeah."

—

The ronin was sitting seiza, his feet tucked neatly under his knees, a discreet distance away — or as much of one as the confines of the building permitted — when Mugen found him.

"You meditating?" The Ryukyuan scratched the back of his leg with his other foot, standing like an untidy, ill-tempered crane.

"If I say yes, will you go away?" Jin answered, his eyes still closed.

"Nope."

"Hn."

Mugen squatted comfortably on his heels, giving the air a voluptuous sniff; whatever Jouji had in those crates with the weird circular stamp, it smelled expensive. "You didn't think that would actually work, didja?"

The ronin opened his eyes for that, irises gone the flat black of river stones in the low light as he chuckled. "No."

The Ryukyuan gave a short huff of amusement.

"You spoke to Fuu."

"Yeah."

The ronin studied his face. "I see."

Mugen gave him a sidelong look. "Thought you'd be happy."

"Shishou would have said that it's a hollow victory to win simply because another has lost," Jin told him cryptically.

"Hah?" That . . . made _no_ sense, Mugen decided.

"Ah," Jin said. "What's done is done. We have other things to discuss."

"Henrik Maurits?" The name was odd, rolling in his mouth like a bite of yakimanju.

The ronin nodded. "I know very little about the sea," Jin admitted. "Can we trust him?"

"Yeah." Mugen rubbed his nose between his fingers. "Gotta think Jouji didn't get here 'cause he's stupid. And someone who can sail from where they're from to here — he's real good or real lucky, one of the two," he said. "Either way, he'll get us where we're going, even if he's an asshole."

"Ryukyu."

Mugen shook his head. "It's a bad idea," he warned.

The ronin raised his eyebrows. "The European might agree with you, but I doubt Fuu will see Ryukyu as a poor choice."

"Fuu ain't ever been further south than here."

"Mm. That other place . . . " Jin made an impatient sound. "There is something we haven't been told. Jouji was too eager to keep us away from there; why?"

"A lot of people who don't tell us enough." Mugen bit at a thumbnail. "Could be we need to start asking the right questions."

"Could be," the ronin agreed.


	32. Chapter 32

Disclaimer: I don't own _Samurai Champloo _or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Neither do I own the haiku of Matsuo Basho (translation by R.H. Blyth, this chapter).

A/N: Many thanks as always to FarStrider, without whom, to be very honest, this fic would be _dreadful_. Seriously, you're fantastic, sweetpea. :)

_**Nenju**_

_XXXII. My neighbor_

Jin had always been a light sleeper.

Even at the dojo, he'd never been so deeply asleep that he'd failed to wake before another person entered his room, and for the most part it had served him well. It had saved his life (and ended that of his shishou) when he'd been hardly old enough to need to shave, and on the first journey to Nagasaki, he'd been able to sleep easily in the knowledge that he would wake before Mugen could make another try at killing him. It was, he knew, a very useful habit.

Of course, the one drawback of being a light sleeper was that he _was_ a light sleeper. It wasn't a problem normally — even asleep, he knew the difference between the night sounds of cicada piping to each other and the sound of strange footsteps whispering through tall grass; Mugen slept as lightly as he did, so he could sleep, he knew. Normally.

The one exception to Mugen's ability to sleep like a cat came on hot, muggy nights, when the Ryukyuan began snoring, loudly, the moment he made contact with his unrolled sleeping mat; his snoring could even wake _Fuu_, on nights like that.

On nights like this one, as a matter of fact.

There was a deep liquid rattling, as Mugen breathed in; there would be a pause — there it was — and then a . . . _something_, like what Jin imagined a bear would sound like, if it was a bear that was concerned about catching a cold and had taken up gargling seawater. The Ryukyuan would deny it, of course, the next morning, no matter how much Fuu complained or pointed out the dark smudges of fatigue under her eyes.

The ronin rolled onto his back and resigned himself to a sleepless night.

Mugen was probably right about trusting the foreigner who would get them out of Nagasaki — now that they'd seen Deshima, it was easier to think of the Europeans as capable of crossing vast distances; those crates were proof of where they had been — though he hadn't mentioned the real reason why they would trust the man, which was that they had no other choice butto trust him. If they wanted to leave, they had to use what was available to them.

But Jouji . . . granted, it was difficult to tell when the man was acting strangely, but his reluctance to send them to the port south of Ryukyu was odd.

It was certain that the man was keeping something from them — but what, exactly? The foreigners depended upon the shogun's good will, yes, but Jin would have bet every ryu that had been sewn into his clothes, that their friend the trader wouldn't send them somewhere where they would be worse off than Nagasaki; if Jouji was being guided by the shogun, with the firefly assassin or someone else pulling his strings, he was the best actor Jin had ever met in his life.

That left one alternative: Jouji was trying to keep them from the southern port for what he thought was their good — or, rather, Fuu's, the ronin thought. The man made no secret of his regard for her. If he hadn't so obviously been interested in men, it might have been a problem — and if Ryukyu was the better option, then there was something worse than giant snakes.

Although he hadn't known Fuu was afraid of them . . . Jin closed his eyes and thought of the girl, a lightness filling his chest. It would be too soon to talk to her, now, but maybe —

"Jin." Her voice was quiet, though it needn't have been; if his own snoring failed to wake him, the sound of her voice would hardly be enough to jolt Mugen out of sleep.

"Mm?"

"Do you have anything over there we could put over his face to shut him up?"

The ronin stifled a laugh. "I haven't found anything yet."

"Mmrhm." She rolled over impatiently. "He'd probably take it the wrong way, too, if he woke up and found us trying to smother him."

"Probably."

"Jin?"

"Hn?"

"Do you think it's a good idea to go to Ryukyu?"

The ronin breathed out before answering. Even if Jouji was keeping something from them, it would serve no purpose to make her worry. "We'll be traveling in that direction, so there would be no difficulty in stopping," he told her instead. "Whether Ryukyu is the best choice, I don't know."

She was quiet a moment, then: "It's closer than Batavia."

"Ah."

"Ikitsuki was the furthest I've ever been from Edo, and even then you and Mugen were there," she told him. "I don't know if I'm as brave as I was then, Jin. What if we're making a mistake?"

He sat up and looked over at her; she was curled onto her side, her knees drawn up as she stared at the Ryukyuan as he slept. "We won't. And we'll be there with you."

Her eyes came up to meet his. "You can't be there all the time."

—

In the end, it was Mugen who came up with the solution for the problem of Jouji.

—

The ronin realized he had fallen asleep only when he woke; Jin blinked — why was there suddenly so much more light? — before he understood that there was someone just outside the door and that it was morning, possibly even as late as midmorning. His hand was on the hilt of the katana as the door opened, and Jouji came in with a box in his arms.

The European smiled and nodded, tilting his head toward the still-sleeping girl, as Mugen turned onto his side; the Ryukyuan grunted, before lurching into a sitting position and scrubbing at his face with his palms. "Nnnnghh," Mugen said coherently.

"You slept well?" Jouji opened the container and set out a still-steaming pot of tea.

"Yeah." Mugen narrowed his eyes at the ronin. "And I don't wanna hear it, fish face."

The European looked at them both, then shrugged as he finished unpacking the box. On her pallet of silk, Fuu stretched out one of her arms, making a little whining noise in her throat as she woke up.

"Have you thought about where you want to go?" Jouji asked, handing a cup to Jin. "It went very well last night. I think Henrik was pleasantly surprised."

"What went well?" Mugen rolled his head on his neck, the bones grating together. "The part where we heard enough about Batavia to keep us away, or the part where you were pushing Ryukyu?" He flexed his hands, hissing in satisfaction as the tendons pulled.

The European froze. "What?"

Jin sipped his tea. It was good — not strong enough to be overpowering — as he curled his hands around the warm cup. Fuu climbed down and came to sit near him, her hair sticking out on the side; he poured her a cup, keeping a careful eye on Jouji, who looked as if Mugen had just kicked him in the face.

Mugen finished working the stiffness out at last and glanced at Jouji. "Look. Stop screwing around," the Ryukyuan said deliberately. "I _don't_ like it when people keep shit from me."

The European ran a distracted hand over his hair, sending his rust-colored topknot into disarray. "We should not have become involved," he said. "But we did. It was the price we paid, and are still paying; it may be that we can never pay enough for what we allowed.

"When we first came to this country, we were not the only Europeans here. The Portuguese and the Spaniards were here before us; not only that, but their priests had come with them. If it was a matter of trade only, it would have been one thing, but bringing their church — " Jouji shook his head. "It's happened before. First their ships, then their priests, then their government. You would have been Spain's most eastern outpost and we would have been locked out.

"You have to understand that this was an uncomfortable time, for all of us; the Portuguese and the Spaniards have their own problems — the Portuguese hate Spain, have done ever since the Spaniards claimed Portugal. They haven't forgotten that they only have their country back after going to war for it, and that Spain would be very pleased to have it back again. They're greedy for land, the Spaniards — my own country belonged to Spain for a long time. We've only been independent from them for a hundred years, ourselves — and the Portuguese know they can't be trusted. So, they divided the world up between them."

Jin's eyebrows drew together. "Their religion is a means to control land?" he asked.

Jouji exhaled. "Yes and no. It's . . . complicated."

"So, make it easy," Mugen said. "And how'd they think they were gonna divide the world?"

"By treaty. They chose a point and agreed that everything west of that would belong to the Spaniards, and everything east would be Portuguese. Ryukyu, Japan — all three of you are Portuguese, according to this treaty." The European smiled. "They do believe that what they're doing is right, which makes it more difficult; how do you argue with someone who genuinely believes that what they're doing is for your own good? When the Spaniards ruled my country, they wanted to bring us back to the Roman church, to burn away our heresy for the good of our souls — the riches of our cities and our trade may have been attractive to them as well, but it was only part of what was intended.

"The Spaniards were weakened for a short time, about the time this country was opened up to foreigners — their king sent his army to invade another kingdom, and lost the main part of his troops at sea; they never did make it to the other land — and for a while they were less involved in their colonies. They did still support the Roman church, though, and the church became their means of entry into other countries." Jouji paused to drink some tea, his voice growing hoarse.

"So when the Christians came here, did they want to invade for this other country, or did they want to do it to help us?" Fuu looked genuinely confused, Jin saw; understandable, as he was having a difficult time following the European himself.

"Both, I think. The first ones were Jesuit priests, who wanted to turn Japan into a Catholic country. There are two main branches of Christianity," the European said, seeing the girl's confusion becoming outright incomprehension. "Catholics and Protestants, who believe in the same god, but who have different views on how to go about believing in him. My country is Protestant, for the most part, though we are very tolerant of others — not so Spain or Portugal. Jesuits are . . . a little different from the average priest. One of their goals is to convert nonbelievers; of course, all priests would be pleased to convert a nonbeliever, but the Jesuits are particularly militant. Warrior monks, of a sort."

"Great, more pissed-off monks. What does that got to do with anything?" Mugen pulled his finger out of his ear, examining the ragged nail before flicking its contents away.

"Action follows thought," Jin answered. "To control a land, start by controlling its people; to control its people, cause them to think what you wish them to think."

"Exactly." Jouji sighed. "When we first came to this country, the Jesuits were already a cause for concern to the shogun. They had been given Nagasaki for their very own, but seven years after they were given the city, Toyotomi Hideyoshi took it back. He believed that the Jesuits were preparing this country for an invasion, and he warned them not to continue as they were — as you probably would expect, they did not listen. That is when the shogunate began making public examples, of what would happen to Christians who were caught."

"But it wasn't a success," the ronin said, remembering.

"No. For the Jesuits, it was like attempting to put out a fire by pouring oil on it; they gathered more converts, as the shogunate executed them. Finally, the shogun expelled or killed the Jesuits, banished the Portuguese and Spaniards, and the Christians were driven underground — the ones that could not hide were exiled, with a great many settling in Batavia. We became the only means of access to the west that the shogunate allowed, and even now we are very strictly regulated." The European smiled slightly. "There _is_ a reason Deshima is considered a portion of my country, rather than part of Japan."

"I still don't see what you did," Fuu broke in, hiding a yawn with the back of her hand. "And how could we be both countries? You said we were Portuguese, but before that you said we'd be the Spains' eastern outpost. That doesn't make any sense."

Jouji hesitated. "I think . . . no, that's not it. I _know_ that if the Jesuits had succeeded in converting this country to Christianity and that the Portuguese had used that to make Japan one of its colonies, the Spaniards would have broken the treaty. You're close enough to their Filipinas Islands that the Portuguese presence would have made them nervous. Regardless of that, they would have coveted this land because of its location."

"The mainland," Jin said, understanding.

"The mainland." Nodding, the other man took a swallow of the now-lukewarm tea and made a face. "Any trader would cheerfully sell his soul for a chance at the mainland; either Spain or Portugal — they'd do no less, certainly, but they'd prefer to use samurai to fight — but that's neither here nor there. They've gone to war with each other over much less.

"When the shogun's patience with the Christians began to run out, there was panic. For the most part, the Jesuits were gone, but there were a few who stayed and were hidden by those who practiced their Christianity in secret. An underground movement, direct government action to send it there, and increasing unhappiness with that government — the shogunate taxed with a heavy hand, by this point in time: you can't protect your borders without money — in hindsight, it was a matter of time before there was outright rebellion."

"Shimabara." Fuu was watching Jouji with rapt eyes. The European gave her an uneasy look.

"When the rebels took over Hara, the shogun called for his artillery to lay siege to the rebels. It was not a success; they had entrenched themselves too deeply, and what artillery the government had was not enough. We were still at Hirado — trade was difficult, as it always is in uncertain times — and when the shogun called upon us . . . " He shrugged. "We did not refuse him."

"What happened? 'S not like you got your own army here." Mugen's eyes were hard, alert as he followed the line of reasoning. "What'd he think you were gonna be able to do?"

Jouji looked at them unhappily. "When the shogun requested our assistance, we sent the one ship we had in the harbor at the time, the _Rijp_ — the _Rijp_ was only lightly armed, but she was used to fire on Hara from the sea — as well as a hundred men and about eighty pieces of field artillery. We besieged the rebels for fifteen days, and even then it wasn't enough."

"But the Christians lost," Fuu said.

Jouji nodded. "In the end, they were starved out. The ones that surrendered were executed — some managed to get away in the confusion, but there weren't many," he said. "Understandably, the Christians of this land have very little love for us, and the shogun . . . as long as we are useful, we are tolerated. The current shogun has a little less tolerance for us than the one before him, and the one after him? Who knows? But he does know that one must grasp the useful tool carefully in order to avoid the sharp edge."

"So why'd you say you shouldn't have been involved?" Mugen rolled into a sitting position, resting his arms on his sharp knees. "Don't see how you got any choice in it."

"The ones who rebelled were ronin," Jouji said heavily. "And women, and children. Can you tell me that a child, Christian or not, understands why another would choose to kill him? Or that women needed to be fought with artillery? There is nothing right about making war on the powerless. We must take our share of the blame for that, and make amends whenever we can."

It was not lost on Jin, how the European's troubled eyes sought out the girl in their midst.

—

By the time the big European left, light from the mid-afternoon sun was slanting in through the ventilation windows, pools of bright amber on the wooden floor. It was stifling inside; it would probably rain sometime soon, Jin thought — less than a week, depending on how long the misplaced summer's days lasted, and when winter came, the warmth would be a pleasant memory, but for now it was just really _hot_.

Mugen was sprawled out on the floor, his nighttime snoring having subsided into a thin whistle as he slept. Jin watched him enviously for a moment — this was probably nothing to the Ryukyuan, undoubtedly it was like this there _all_ the time — before going to find the one other person who'd been kept awake the night before.

Fuu was sitting, repacking her belongings, on the long bolts of silk where she'd taken to sleeping; as he came up, she was biting her lip in concentration, tying a last knot to keep her sleeping mat neatly rolled. She swiped at the loose hair tickling her cheek, the sleeve falling away from her arm, as she caught him watching her and made a face of mock dismay. "Do you think Mugen would cut my hair like his?" she asked lightly. "It would be so much easier."

"You — " He paused. What did he think he was going to say to her, Jin wondered. _Now that he doesn't want you, we could be together!_ was probably the last thing he should say to her, ever; even behind _I made eel for you, just like Shino liked it_ and _Mugen is being foolish — you're certainly the prettiest former prostitute that he knows_. The chances were extraordinarily good that saying any of those things to her would result in . . . well, she would never be skilled enough to injure him, but she could do something far worse.

She could, he thought, think _poorly_ of him.

" — would _want_ to look like him?" Jin hazarded.

Fuu stopped in the middle of brushing off the cloth-wrapped bundle the twins had given her to look at him, her eyebrows raised slightly. "Look like him? No. I just meant that it would probably be easier. It wouldn't be nearly as hot, either."

"Ah."

"You never thought about it?" She set the parcel — she had no intention of telling him what was inside, he saw with some disappointment — down alongside the Europeans' other goods, where it looked like any of the rest of their things. "Jin, your hair's even longer than mine. You never wanted just to cut it off?"

He considered. "No," he said honestly. "I never thought of it. Shishou wore his in a topknot, but he had very little hair to begin with. Once I left the dojo, it wasn't important to me, other than to make sure to tie it back."

Fuu smiled. "For someone that looks like you do, you don't think much about it, do you?" she asked.

Jin frowned. If he left it loose, there was the danger that it would obscure his sight when he fought . . . but it was unlikely that had been what she meant. "No?"

She laughed, pulling the loose tendrils of hair that were clinging to her neck away from the damp skin there. "No." She let her hands fall against her thighs, giving him an affectionate look.

"Fuu." The ronin sat next to her, careful not to disturb the bundle, and even more carefully schooling the impulse to lean in and lick the side of her neck; her skin would be salty there, part of him noted. "There is very little time left before we leave here, and I know that there has been — that you — "

"You're talking about Mugen," she said. "He told you?"

He shook his head. "No."

"Thank you for not saying 'I told you so'."

"Ah." Jin kept his eyes fixed on her hands, as they rested in her lap. Her hands were so small, the size of a child's hands; it was difficult to believe that those hands were capable of doing things like picking locks, or rolling dice. "You did what you thought was right. There is no shame in that."

"Unless it goes wrong," she said wryly. "He's Mugen. I should've known that would happen, but . . . I feel like the biggest failure ever."

He made a disparaging noise. "Being unable to keep Mugen from acting foolishly does not make you a failure," he said. "The only thing _that_ means is that you're . . . breathing, perhaps."

She glanced at him gratefully. "I suppose."

"Ah," he said. "What I was — we'll leave here, soon." Mariya-dono would have told him to grasp the moment with both hands, he thought.

Fuu's eyebrows drew together. " . . . yes?"

"And you are aware that I think of you as more than a friend." He took one of those small hands in his, turning it over gently. Her hands were still calloused from hard work, the past few months having done little to erase its marks; he rubbed the hollow of her palm with his long fingers, her hand curving around his. "Properly speaking, I should ask your family, but — "

" — you _are_ my family," she finished, smiling. "You could always talk to Mugen?"

He chuckled.

"But you're right. I know you do." Fuu looked toward the window restlessly. "I wish we could stand outside, just for a little bit. This sort of thing is so much easier to think about outdoors."

Jin looked up at the window. Late afternoon, and on a day this hot, it would be unlikely that they would see anyone, if they were careful; even the guard at the gate would be dozing — "Why not? We'll use the other door," he decided.

He stood and slid the daisho into place at his hip, before taking her hand again. She hesitated, her eyes unsure, but she let him pull her up from the silk. "Really?" she said. "We can go out?"

"We need to be careful," he warned. "And we can't go far."

"I know, but . . . _out_." Her face was alight with anticipation.

There was no one that he could see from the back entrance to the warehouse, as Jin cautiously brought her out into the narrow alley between the buildings. "Welcome to Deshima," he murmured, smiling, into her ear; her good spirits were infectious, and the breeze coming off the water was deliciously cool, after the cooking-pot heat of the warehouse.

Fuu giggled quietly. "You know, I'd really like to see where you keep the things that come off the ships," she said.

"Ah. If I — " The ronin broke off speaking, looking down the alley toward the main street: there was someone coming — he put his hand to the door behind them, pulling at the handle as Jouji had.

The door stubbornly refused to budge, and now he could hear more than one set of footsteps, coming from the east toward . . . _well_. Where they were standing, to be precise.

"Jin?"

"Shh." He gave the door a last shove — it stayed closed, but there was the possibility he'd woken Mugen, at least — before pulling her across the alley to the next building. There was no door, but there was a window left open; it was high off the ground . . . ignoring the surprised squeak she made as he picked her up, he lifted her to the opening. "_Hurry_."

She obeyed without a question, he noted gratefully; she disappeared inside the building, as the steps came closer, closer — the ronin grasped the edges of the window and hauled himself up. It was dark inside, but they were almost there — he wedged himself through the opening and leaped into the darkness inside.

_Appropriate_, he thought wryly, as he fell forward.

—


	33. Chapter 33

Disclaimer: I don't own _Samurai Champloo _or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Neither do I own the haiku of Matsuo Basho (translation by R.H. Blyth, this chapter). Bob Schneider also deserves a writing credit, for providing the writing soundtrack for the very end of this chapter with "The Long Black Road."

A/N: Shichi-go-san is a festival held every year on November 15, celebrating the passage of children into middle childhood; similarly, FarStrider deserves a national holiday of her own for sheer sparkliness and super beta powers.

This chapter edited to comply with guidelines; for the uncensored version of this chapter, please click on my name, which will take you to my author page and a link to my homepage, where there will be one last link to the NC-17/M rated version.

THIS IS NOT THE LAST CHAPTER.

_**Nenju**_

_XXXIII. How does he live, I wonder_

Fuu landed heavily on her rump, thumping hard enough against the wooden floor to make her eyes water. The ronin came through the window after her, landing more gracefully on his feet as she scrambled backward out of his way.

"Are you all right?" he asked quietly, pulling her up by the hand.

She dusted herself off, nodding. "I think so," she said as she looked around. They'd ended up inside another warehouse, she realized, her eyes adjusting to the dimness. This one was even darker inside than the first, with fewer windows set high off the ground: the smell of spices was stronger, coming from a large bank of crates against the far wall, more rows of bolts of cloth stacked less neatly at right angles to the crates. She guessed that this was where the foreigners kept their overflow goods. "You know I was kidding about seeing another warehouse, right?"

"Ah." Jin went to the window, listening to the muted noise of people outside, before he noiselessly shut it. "I did say we couldn't go far."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "So what now?"

"We'll stay here until they leave."

She sighed, lacing her fingers together and stretching. They'd been so close to being outside — an alley hardly counted, there were no trees or grass or anything — and bang, now they were in another building, with Mugen probably oblivious to the danger surrounding the warehouse. If this day got any stranger, she'd eat her own zori.

Jin peered out the window one last time, before turning to her. "Have you thought about what will happen when we leave here?"

. . . maybe with a little wasabi, the zori wouldn't be quite so bad.

"Um," Fuu said, as he looked at her expectantly; she'd known he was going to ask that — Jin was nothing if not an advance planner — but now that the question was actually there between them, it was awkward with everything that had happened in the past few weeks. "A little. Once we get to Ryukyu, it depends on how much money we have left. Mugen thinks there should be enough for a little house, I guess, so I thought maybe . . . maybe we could all live there."

"Hn." His eyebrows drew together, as he came to stand in front of her. "From what he's said, Ryukyu is a difficult place for women, even more difficult for women without someone to protect them, and for you as an unmarried woman — I am also concerned that it is most unseemly for you to travel with two men and no chaperone."

"But it's you and Mugen," she told him. "And unseemly for who? I was working in a brothel, it's hard to be much more unseemly than _that_."

"Fuu — "

"Jin, shut up," she told him, wondering if _he_'d ever heard that before in his life; evidently not, judging by the way his eyes widened. "I don't know if I can ever say this again to you, so just listen, all right?"

He nodded.

"If you want me for yourself, then yes — but if you're doing this because you feel sorry for me — " She bit her lip, as he stared at her. She realized she had made the most enormous fool of herself, and that he was undoubtedly as embarrassed as she was, and —

And then she was pressed against his kimono, that strong heartbeat under her hands, those strong slender hands woven into her hair. He pulled her up to kiss her —

— as the top of her head clunked solidly into his upper lip.

She stared, eyes wide and horrified, as the fingers he'd put reflexively to his mouth came away with a smear of blood. "You're _bleeding_," she said. "I am so sorry — "

"Fuu. It's nothing," he told her, smiling. "It's stopped. Look."

She touched his mouth, unbelieving. "I'm sorry," she repeated. "About _everything_. I made such a mess of it — "

He brought his hand, warm and strong, up to cover hers. "It will heal."

"I wasn't talking about your lip."

"Neither was I — " He turned his head sharply in the direction of the door, a moment before yanking her into a narrow space between the stacked bolts of cloth that she hadn't noticed; frowning, she crouched low as the ronin pulled some of the bolts over their heads. There was enough room for him to sit with his legs stretched out in front of him, but not nearly enough to stand — heavy shoes clattered on the stones outside as he folded himself into the space alongside her.

Jin kept his hand on the back of her neck as they listened to the sounds of men coming to search the warehouse. Out of the corner of her eye, she could still see his face; for the first time, she saw worry lines etched between his eyebrows, and guilt crackled through her.

It was hardly the appropriate place or time, but — she knew it would be the easiest thing in the world to wait until they were on board ship, and then once they were there, to wait until they were in Ryukyu, an endless string of events to bind him to her in a purgatory of duty. He'd never ask it of her, he was no Mugen, he'd die before admitting he wanted something — but it would be there, always. She could not risk driving him away, not again.

Maybe it was the right time, she thought.

Fuu swallowed. It was _Jin_, she told herself; it was Jin, and Jin would never hurt her, not ever, and she wanted to smooth that look out of his face — she ignored the anxious knot in her stomach and pulled herself up to straddle his thighs.

Distantly, she wondered if the men searching the warehouse could hear the way her heart was beating, a caged bird battering its wings against her ribs.

Jin froze, his face gone still and focused on her. His hands moved to her wrists, touching them as if his fingers had lost their sureness, as he tugged her gently, reluctantly away; he looked her in the eyes, then looked up, the men's voices coming from very close to their hiding place. She shook her head and wound her hands more tightly into the collar of his kimono, keeping her eyes on his: _yes_.

He lifted an eyebrow, pointedly glancing up; anyone pulling the silk away from their hiding place would see them, it was an_ insane_ risk —

— she kissed that raised eyebrow, feeling his breathing hitch in surprise.

She smiled. He was ronin and homeless and _hers_ and he would never, ever understand that this was such a small thing that she could give him.

Jin let her wrists go when she pulled the pins out of her hair, his hands automatically resting on her hips, as _right_ there as when he held her father's katana in those capable hands. His eyes widened as the knot came undone, heavy chestnut swinging free over her back: he'd seen her with her hair undone before, but only as she was getting ready to go to sleep —

Fuu smiled at him again, in what she hoped was an encouraging manner. His body was responding to her — while she sat on his lap with her thighs bracketing his hips, it would have been impossible for him to keep it a secret from her — but whether his mind would agree was another thing entirely. It was ridiculous, really. He wanted this, she knew he did, and it wasn't as if this would be the most unpleasant thing she'd ever done. At worst, it would be some momentary discomfort for her, and that would pass soon enough.

Maybe he'd kiss her; she'd liked that.

She brushed against him sinuously as she reached to undo the tie that held his hair back, his eyes fluttering half-closed at the contact. His hair was a river of ink in her hands — she twined it round her fingers, letting the long strands trickle through, before threading her hands into the hair at the base of his skull. She'd loved his hair ever since he'd set foot in the teahouse in Edo, even on those days when it had been the _only_ thing she'd loved about him, when he'd walked away into the rain to go to that woman — a grim little smile caught at her lips as she remembered the woman in the enkiri dera.

She was going to _burn_ every trace of that woman away, she thought.

"Fuu." His voice was a strained whisper. "This — "

"Shh," she breathed, ignoring the sound of the men in the warehouse, combing her fingers through his hair before grasping his hands. Distantly, she wondered as she brought his unresisting hands to her breasts if he would notice how quickly her heart was beating.

Jin inhaled sharply, as she arched her back and pressed into him. "I am not a _saint_, Fuu," he murmured into her ear, even as his long fingers curved over her skin. "I cannot — " What he had been about to say was lost, as she leaned in impatiently to kiss him.

It was — _good_, only; not the fireworks she'd been expecting after he'd kissed her in the forest. Disappointed, she nibbled his lip and wondered if she'd imagined the whole thing. He sat there, his only response the pressure against her. His hands stayed where she'd put them, though — she frowned. They were hidden well, so what was his problem?

"You! What are you doing, this is unbelievable — these buildings are the property of the Dutch East India Company and any search of these buildings must be done with my permission," a strong voice rang out, its odd lilting accent catching her attention as heavy footsteps approached their hiding place. Jin tensed, his attention less on her and more on the voice. She knew that voice —

" — completely impossible, do you think that if there were someone hiding in here, they could get through a locked door?" The familiar voice drifted down, as the primary bolt of silk covering their hiding place was pulled away to reveal Jouji looking down at the hollow between the stacks. "And _why_ is nothing being put back where it should be — "

She stared up blankly at the European — what was _he_ doing here? — before Jin yanked her forward.

For a moment, the big foreigner regarded them impassively — Fuu, straddling the ronin with her kimono rucked up around her thighs, and Jin with his hair spilling loose over his shoulders — as she tried to will them through the floor.

Underneath her, Jin had stopped breathing, his palm cool as it rested against her shoulder blade. His other hand was on the wakizashi; Jouji turned his head to call out to the officials —

— and said, his annoyed voice booming out through the warehouse, "You. Give me that bolt of silk. I _would_ like to keep some of these things off the floor — unless you've yet to look inside it? I'm sure that if there are dangerous vagrants on the loose, they would be able to make their way into a crate from Rotterdam _without_ breaking its seal." He bent away from Fuu's line of sight, toward the murmured sound of a flustered official, before straightening up with an armful of cloth. He looked at them for the space of a heartbeat, his eyes twinkling, before setting the silk back down over their hiding place. They listened as the floor creaked under his weight, Jouji haranguing the officials out of the warehouse ahead of him like an ox herding cats.

When the door clicked shut, she sagged against Jin in relief. He let his hand drop to the small of her back as the voices receded away from the building, his face watchful until she could no longer hear their footsteps. He gently pushed her away enough to be able to see her face, but kept her on his lap.

"Are you sure you want this?" he asked. "If you don't — "

She took a breath, knowing that there was no going back from this point. "Yes."

The next moment, his mouth was on hers, soft and hungry, as his hand cupped the back of her head. He was being gentle, she knew, so very careful with her — too careful; she opened her mouth to take in that disciplined lower lip of his and he groaned low in his throat, fingers tightening in her hair. His mouth unfolded against hers, like honey, like _home, _and she exulted.

She tugged impatiently at his collar, wanting his skin; without breaking their kiss, he pulled his kimono out of his hakama, shrugging out of the sleeves and letting it fall unheeded behind him, the juban underneath it following suit. She swallowed a little gasp as she felt him against her at last — he was so _warm,_ and smooth — and then his mouth was sucking at the lobe of her ear, that soft hot tongue flicking at her in a way that made her feel it down to her curling toes.

Dimly, she wondered if this was why the madam had warned them never to kiss a customer, because this, this was enough to render her incapable of thought beyond how good it felt — _more oh yes oh yes oh please more _— and now that his tongue had moved to the hollow under her ear, she realized this was very possibly the best thing, _ever_.

Fuu let her hands explore the long plane of his back, learning the feel of his skin as the muscles of his shoulders bunched and slid underneath. His slenderness hid a deceptive wiry strength, she knew, like a katana; no matter how thin the blade, it was still steel at its heart. It was easy to forget how broad his shoulders were under the gray kimono, how much his clothing disguised what he was — she frowned, as her fingers encountered the edge of his hakama.

He slowed, as her hands fumbled with the knot at his waist, and for a moment she thought he might stop her. Then his fingers were guiding hers, the ties coming apart easily as he slid the hakama over his feet. The fundoshi was last — he unwound the cloth with the ease of long practice, a tiny anxious bubble reforming inside her as the fundoshi was consigned to the floor. Even on Ikitsuki, when they'd been injured, she'd never seen either of them naked; she'd seen enough of other men as they undressed to know what to expect, but — it was _Jin_, she told herself.

She could do this.

—

He gave the wall of cloth bolts a careful shove, enlarging their space enough to allow them to lie down with a little comfort. She rolled onto her side to face him as he thumped to the floorboards next to her; he looked tired, but relaxed and _happy_ — it broke her heart a little to look at him.

She rested her hand on his stomach, a fierce, possessive tenderness welling up in her. She'd almost thrown this away, almost pushed him away — she wanted to wrap herself around him and keep him safe from the world's sharp edges.

Jin chuckled low in his throat. "I should thank the shogun," he said.

She tried to remember how it had worked with Mugen. She'd woken with her head against his shoulder; it hadn't been the most comfortable pillow, but —

— Jin reached down for his juban, which had bunched up into a crumpled heap and tucked it under her head. "Are you comfortable?" he asked. "I would have brought you a pillow, if I'd known."

She shook her head and he pulled his kimono up over them as a makeshift quilt, before spooning around her, his breath fluttering over her hair. "How do you know that?"she asked. "I do, but when did you see me with one?"

"With Sara. We stayed in a temple, and you slept with your head on her pack," he told her. "And then you had one in that village with the Christians near Ube, and again in Kyoto — "

She turned her head to look at him, pulling her hair up so it wouldn't be in his face. "How long have you been paying attention to things like that?" she asked curiously.

"A long time," he said simply, stroking her hip before slipping his arm around her middle.

"Uh-huh." She gave him a last look, before wriggling in as close to his warmth as she could and closing her eyes. With any luck, she thought, by the time she woke, the men searching Deshima would be far away, and maybe the man with the ship would be ready to take them to Ryukyu — she smiled at the idea of a house there with Jin, one with a comfortable futon — "Jin?"

"Hn?"

"Where did you learn to do that?"

She could feel him smile against the back of her head. "When I was at the dojo, the others would talk about what men did, both as brothers in shudo and with women," he said. "I listened."

Fuu chuckled. "You didn't practice?"

There was a snort of amusement. "That came later."

Her smile turned into a yawn, irresistible sleep washing up over her.

"You won't leave me?" she murmured.

"I could never want to," he said.

—

Fuu groaned quietly as she stood up, her hips protesting like she'd been run over by a full market of vendors' carts. "I think you broke me," she told him, putting her hands in the small of her back and stretching. "The last time I felt like this, I fell off a cliff. How am I going to travel on a boat when I can't sit down?"

"You fell off a cliff and I wasn't told?" His hands came up to cup her through the kimono as he came up behind her. She felt his breath stir the downy hair at the nape of her neck, a moment before his warm mouth brushed over her skin. She shivered.

"You were — um," Fuu said, any thought of complaint receding. "That's — " She could feel that mouth all the way through her; she fought to keep some semblance of composure. It gave him an unfair advantage, really, if he only had to touch her to make her lose her mind. Once he stopped — hours from now, hopefully — she would have to figure something out.

"Hn?" The familiar sound made her shiver as he hummed against her back.

"I can't _think_ when you do that," Fuu admitted. "It's worse when —_ ah_." The sudden tide of heat in her face told her she was blushing.

"When?"

"When you do that _here_," she told him, bringing her hands up over his as he cupped her breasts.

She felt Jin smile against her back. "There," he said. "Where else?"

She frowned, puzzled, as she craned her neck to look at him. "What?"

"What about here?" He slid his hands over hers, pulling the kimono off her shoulders.

"Maybe."

"What about here?" His fingers traced the cup of her navel.

Her eyes closed, as she leaned back against him, uncaring how immodestly the kimono fell open.

_Oh_.

—

Mugen dropped lightly from the rafters, longsword in his hand and his face furious. "Where the hell did — " he broke off speaking. His eyebrows drew together, as he took in the broad smile on his face of the last master of the Mujuu, and the way the juban peeking out from under her kimono appeared to have been put on inside out.

He leaned in and _sniffed_, a crooked little smile forming. He gave Jin a sidelong look. "Figured out how to kill some time?" he asked, his smile widening into a wicked grin.

Jin snorted, as she blushed furiously.

The Ryukyuan chuckled, before jerking his head toward the back of the warehouse. "Better get what you want to take with you. We're leaving."

"Leaving?" Jin's eyes were alert.

Mugen nodded. "Jouji came back to lock the door — the ship leaves on the tide, and the captain wants us on board tonight. There'll be a boat to take us out there from the dock, Nagasaki-side, soon's we get there," he said, calling over his shoulder as Jin strode off to collect his pack. "Get her shit too, willya?"

"Wh— "

The Ryukyuan came up close to her, frowning in concentration as he peered into her face. "This — " his eyes flickered back, in the direction of the ronin. "You all right?"

"Mm-hmm." She smiled. "Better than all right."

His eyebrows rose. "More 'n I wanted to hear," he told her lightly, before turning serious once again. "If it isn't ever . . . you tell me, and I'll kick his ass."

She laughed. "It won't be."

Mugen nodded. "Yeah," he said softly, before turning to Jin. "Oi, fish face. Stop smiling, 'cause you're freaking me out, you hear?"

The ronin shouldered the pack, handing the twins' bundle to Fuu, who held her hands out for it; his fingers brushed against hers in a subtle caress as he gave her the package.

"You two gonna do that all the way to Ryukyu? 'Cause I'm gonna be sick."

—

Jouji was waiting outside for them; he said nothing, but gave her a conspiratorial look as she tried not to blush and failed miserably. "We must hurry," he said. "The guards are making their report, so we haven't got very long." After checking to see that no one was looking, the European set off through the Deshima gate, as they followed.

"You don't have a sea gate?" Mugen asked.

Jouji shook his head. "Not yet. I hope to have one soon, but it may take a few years — until then, we have the use of most of the piers when we want them."

He took them down the street leading to the docks; Fuu shivered, as the area became more familiar. There was the place where they'd eaten shabu-shabu — they walked past a shop with a sign announcing that castella was sold inside, Mugen poking Jin in the arm and pointing as soon as he noticed it — and her skin crawled as Jouji led them to the tiny pier where she'd caught the ferry for Ikitsuki. _We came full circle_, she thought. _Please_ _let nothing bad happen now. Please_.

A warm hand squeezed hers comfortingly: she looked, and saw Jin watching her. She smiled at him, feeling the nervousness lessen. He wouldn't let anything happen to them, and Mugen was there too — she tightened her grasp on Jin's hand.

Jouji squinted toward the outline of ships bobbing in the harbor, brightening as he caught sight of a small boat making its way toward them. "They're coming," he said. "I can't stay any longer, so this must be goodbye."

"Oh — " Her heart turned over; impulsively, Fuu threw her arms around his neck and gave the European a hug. He blinked, then returned her embrace, his ruddy face going even pinker. "I wish we could take you with us," she said.

"Do they have pretty boys there?" he joked, setting her back down and smiling at Mugen and Jin. "Maybe someday I will see you again, my friends."

Jin nodded gravely, as the Ryukyuan scratched at his ear, ill at ease. "Yeah."

Jouji grinned at Mugen. "Who knows? You might not be so tight-assed then," the European said, as Fuu began to giggle; the corner of Jin's mouth quirked suspiciously, as if he was trying to hold in laughter.

Mugen gave them all a dirty look, as Jouji gave them a last cheery wave and strode off in the direction of Deshima. "Did he just come on to me?"

"Hn," Jin answered. "I'd hardly call you pretty."

"Yeah — hey!" Mugen looked smug for a moment, the smugness disappearing as he realized what Jin had said. Fuu smiled, looking at them — her two boys, she thought fondly. It didn't matter that she'd chosen one over the other, or that one had chosen her; they were hers, as long as any of them were alive.

It was the last time she would see them together like that, tall and strong against the Nagasaki night.

—

The first indication she had that anything was wrong, was the look on Jin's face; his eyes narrowed as she watched him, his hand going to the daisho at his hip.

Mugen glanced up sharply, looking around. "Where?" he said only.

"Alley," Jin answered. "And behind the buildings."

"Can we get to the boat before they're here?"

Jin looked back at the boat, itself so close now that the faces of the rowers were clearly visible. "Maybe. We should get her to the end of the pier. We'll have a better chance there."

The Ryukyuan nodded, hustling her down to the edge furthest over the water. She gripped the bundle in her arms, the boat almost close enough to scrape against the wooden pilings — the government men came boiling out of the side streets, shouting.

The rowers drew alongside the end of the pier as the first of the shogun's men — Fuu was unsurprised to see the ninja with the mole on his face leading the charge — set foot on the boards. Mugen shouted to the men in the boat to keep it steady, before picking her up and passing her over the side; the ninja with the mole ignored Jin and made straight for the Ryukyuan, the longsword barely clearing the scabbard's edge before Mugen spun away underneath the strike. Jin was methodically clearing the end of the pier of the government's men, the katana slashing to the side, then down again, as rhythmically as the beating of a drum. There were so many of them — their escape would be a very close thing, she realized.

A sudden movement caught her eye, and she glanced up, away from where Mugen had finally succeeded in cutting down the ninja with the mole. A murder of crows, disturbed by the commotion on the pier, had taken off from the tree in which they'd been perched; their black wings made a delicate tracery against the dawn as it approached — Mugen's pack thumped to the bottom of the boat next to her, then Mugen himself, panting. "We gotta get out of here," he said, before raising his voice. "Quit screwing around and let's _go_!"

Jin turned, carving his way through the crowd; his foot was nearly to the edge of the pier, when the shogun's men parted behind him. Her heart sank, as she saw the old, fat ninja they'd met on the road to Nagasaki —

— the one Jin hadn't beaten.

Next to her, Mugen inhaled sharply, before shouting to Jin to get into the boat. Jin looked back —

— and stopped, blocking the ninja from getting to them.

What was he _doing_, she thought.

He looked at her, smiling, and it became clear what he intended to do, the warmth that was him inside her turning into something that felt so very much like dying.

_No_ — _please no not now_ — _oh please — _

"Take care of Fuu," he said over the top of her head to Mugen, before shoving the boat out into the harbor.

She shot out of her seat, the small craft wobbling precariously as she pushed past the rowers; her hands were out, reaching for him, before Mugen caught her by the collar of her kimono and hauled her back, the bundle from the twins going over the side almost unnoticed as she fought to get to _him_. She lashed out, her fist connecting with the Ryukyuan's cheekbone, but he hung on grimly as the boat moved steadily away from the pier. "You _can't_ help him," he told her hoarsely as she struggled. "Fuu, you can't, you have to stop, there's _nothing_ — "

Jin's back was to them, sword drawn as the men advanced; she watched as the older ninja came at him, moving like a bird in spite of his bulk. The man swung his kodachi, the blade describing a perfect silver arc in the air as Jin brought her father's katana up to parry the blow. The ninja's shorter blade sheared off the katana's edge and he attacked again.

As Jin blocked the attack, another darted in, short sword a ripple of brightness against the sky; she moaned as it went _through_ him —

— and the last she saw of him on the pier was the gray of his kimono as he fell to the ground, the shogun's men surrounding him —

Mugen's grip on her tightened, a prison she could not free herself from. "Oh, you dirty bastard," he whispered. "You son of a bitch _asshole_."

A splash of white caught her eye; unwillingly, she glanced away from the swirling crowd of men where he had fallen. The kimono fluttered in the water, the sleeves unfurling as it floated. It had been their mother's, Tatsu had told her, she'd worn it when she'd married their father —

It was right, somehow, that her wedding kimono stayed with him, she thought.


	34. Chapter 34

Disclaimer: I don't own _Samurai Champloo _or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Neither do I own the haiku of Matsuo Basho (translation by R.H. Blyth, this chapter).

A/N: According to _Larousse Gastronomique_, most snakes — even the poisonous ones! — are edible; I've yet to find Reptile Helper at my local grocery store, though, so I think Mugen's on his own with this one. Also, as we know, an engawa is the raised wooden walkway outside of buildings.

Many thanks to FarStrider, who's still worth her weight in French toast. :)

_**Nenju**_

_XXXIV. The temple bell dies away_

The man Jouji had brought to see them was standing at the top of the rope ladder; he took hold of Fuu around the waist and swung her on board as Mugen clambered up after. "Hurry," he said only, dark circles under his eyes as he looked at the Ryukyuan. "Is this everything?"

One of the sailors came up over the side with their meager belongings, which he dropped at their feet; Mugen nodded, her frustration building as he stood there and did _nothing_. "Yeah."

"We have to go back," she told them, voice rising in panic. "He's still there, we can't leave him, we have to go _back_ — "

She took a step toward them, intent on making them see, on making them help, before Mugen grabbed her wrist. "Fuu," he said, his voice thick.

"Your companion is dead." The captain looked directly at her. "There is nothing you can do for him. We must leave, now, or they will be on us." He gestured toward the quay, where some of the shogun's men were boarding small boats —

"Then go," Mugen said, as she gripped the front of his scarlet gi. "Do what you got to." The captain — Jouji had called him Maurits, she remembered; he'd been reeking of sake when they'd met him, but now she couldn't smell any part of it on him — grunted and strode off, the ship coming to life around them as the sails belled in the wind.

The ship slid through the water, inexorably drawing away from Nagasaki and the mass of people still on the pier as she and Mugen watched. They stood there until after the town had receded into a smear of light on the horizon, the shogun's men and the quay left far behind them.

"Jin's not dead," she told him, in a voice that sounded small and forlorn even to her own ears. "Please — " There was a pressure building up in her throat, a breath that she could not let escape, salt stinging in her eyes. Her chest hitched once, and again — and she was clinging to the white haori, sobbing, Mugen's arms holding her as tightly as she held him.

"Yeah." He rested his head on hers. "I know."

When it grew light and there was nothing left to see but water, Mugen managed to coax her below deck, where Maurits had rigged a piece of sailcloth to screen off a small area. There was a sack filled with straw behind it; Mugen lowered her onto it, before lying down himself at the foot of the sack, stretched across the entrance. She was tired, so tired — Fuu realized with a start that it had been almost a full day since waking up the morning before — she let her eyes close and listened to the sound of his steady breathing as she fell asleep at last.

—

She slept for the better part of two days, fighting her way back down into dreams when the noise of the ship threatened to wake her. Maurits gave the order for quiet, and the ship's company complied; the woman they'd picked up in Nagasaki made them uneasy — the cook swore up and down he'd seen her weeping in her sleep without making a sound, seconds before the vicious bastard she was with had him pinned to a locker, telling him he'd slit him open if he so much as _looked_ at her again — and there was none of the usual skylarking that marked the first few days out.

It was, as was generally agreed among the crew, best to leave the captain's business to the captain.

—

She woke from a dream, on the second day; they were in the mountains, and she was fifteen again, watching Mugen inexpertly seduce a pair of girls. Jin walked ahead, her hand caught in his sleeve. She could hear his soles crunching over the road, and smell the forest around them — Jin was walking too quickly and she frowned, pulling on his sleeve to slow him down: but the cloth pulled through her fingers as he steadily drew away from her —

Fuu opened her eyes, the sense of loss like a knife in her side, and it took a moment to recognize the sharp familiar pain in her belly as distinct from that. She pushed herself upright on the sack of straw, drawing Mugen's worried eyes. "Have to pee," she told him shortly. He nodded and went back to dozing.

The ship's wooden deck creaked and moved under her feet as she made her way forward. Maurits saw her and nodded, not pausing in his conversation with another sailor; she found her way to the tiny room — the second crewman she'd asked had known a little Japanese, and hadn't bolted at the sight of her as the first had done — at the ship's narrow front and closed the door behind her before looking. There was the thin line of blood she knew would be there, trickling down the inside of her thigh.

Fuu tore a long strip from the bottom of her juban, for want of anything better, improvising until she was reasonably sure it would stay in place. She'd always been irregular, but for it to arrive now — there was nothing of him left to her any more, she thought dully.

She relieved herself before leaving the little room, almost bumping into Maurits when she emerged. She could see Mugen over his shoulder, sitting at the long low table the crew used for meals, his eyes on her. "We'll be in Ryukyu soon," Maurits said. "A day's time, two at most. Will you join us?"

She nodded, and sat next to Mugen. "How much — " she started, then fell silent. If Mugen had already paid for their passage, it would be pointless at best to ask again, and at worst, it might encourage a greedy man to think they carried more money on them than he knew about.

"You want to pay me?" the captain asked, amused. "Keep your money. The chief factor asked me to do this, and while he's a sodomite, he's a good man; it's my pleasure to take you wherever you want to go."

"Thank you."

The ship's captain smiled and pulled a wide scroll from his pocket, unrolling it on the table as Mugen leaned forward. "These are the Ryukyu islands here," Maurits said, indicating shapes outlined in black on the paper, before tapping the tip of his finger at a spot on the paper close to them. "We're here, I believe. I don't know if you've decided where you would have me land you — ?"

"Further south, the better. I don't want to take her anywhere near the northern islands," Mugen told him.

Maurits looked at her enquiringly; she nodded. "Mm. Then I would suggest this place." He put his fingertip just below an arm of the biggest island. "We put in here when we need water. Very few people, and those that are there keep to themselves; there's even a fair amount of forest left. Good harbor."

"There any Satsuma-han?" The Ryukyuan crossed his arms over his chest.

The European shook his head. "I've never seen them there. Just aren't enough people for the han to have an interest, and it's too far south — to cover that part of the island, they'd need to take men from other places they want more. It's the best place I can think of; if you need to leave, there are enough Company ships that water there that we could get you out," he said, and smiled. "Of course, this is also the only place I can think of where you'd be as likely to survive as to die."

Mugen frowned. "How hard is it to get in and out of the harbor?"

"Not hard, once you know where the reef is."

The Ryukyuan grunted, scratching his ear thoughtfully. "Can't be too far from a village. We'll need supplies, and building a house means time."

Maurits nodded, a slow smile beginning on his face as she watched. "Tell me," he said. "What do you require in a house?"

Mugen eyed him suspiciously.

—

Maurits had insisted on giving them some of his supplies; they found themselves gifted with an ax, some gardening tools — Fuu almost inadvertently decapitating one of the rowers while carrying the hoe, before Mugen took it quietly from her — and an extra bucket to carry them in, before he wished them luck and landed them on the beach. She watched the small boat as it pulled away from shore, half wanting to run into the warm water after them and ask to be taken back onto the ship, now that they were here.

The island was beautiful, lush and _green_ — greener than anything she'd ever seen, as green as the wet paint Moronobu had used — mountains climbing toward the sun; the water around it was clear, a bright blue-green as if color was seeping off the mountains into the ocean, tinting it brilliantly before the water turned a deep blue once more. It was amazing and breathtaking and now that she was here, she just wanted to go home.

"Right. Come on," he said, starting up the narrow path.

It was only a foothill, and a small one at that, but she found herself breathing as heavily as if she'd been running a race when they reached the top; he looked completely unfazed by the climb and was peering at some stone steps when she got there.

"Foundation's solid enough," he told her as she puffed to a stop. "Roof's all right for now, but unless it gets fixed in the next couple of years, whole damn thing's going to fall in during a monsoon." He set the tools Maurits had given them against the wall, as Fuu took a long look

The house was — the_ place_ where the house had been built was pretty, she decided; there was a stone wall, with tall trees and a small courtyard, and an opening in the wall through which she could just make out steps leading up to a clearing. There was even a mango tree, which cheered her a little.

The house _itself_ was a disaster, however. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting, but . . . the shoji were disintegrating, the wooden frames rotting in place; she stood on tiptoe to touch the roof, pulling away her fingers as one of the roof tiles fell off. "It's all right for now?"

He nodded. "Needs work, but yeah," he told her. He stepped up on the narrow engawa, and Fuu followed. It wasn't terribly different from what she was used to, she decided, and maybe it could be changed a little, and then maybe the feeling of being a six-year-old watching her father leaving forever would go away —

There was a sudden motion and Mugen jumped back, his eyes on something in the crumbling firebox. "Don't move," he said.

She craned her neck to see, then wished she hadn't, as a smooth triangular head appeared over the edge with the long mottled body gliding after; the snake slithered onto the plank floor and she stopped breathing.

The longsword was a bright streak in the dim light, then he was wiping it on the edge of his gi, the snake lying in pieces on the floor. "Habu," Mugen said conversationally. "Poisonous. Tasty, though." She looked at him in horror. He shrugged, picking them up and taking them outside.

There was a dry, powdery smell inside, sharper than the general dust and neglect that she'd noticed first. The smell was stronger further in — she took a tentative step forward, looking at the white spatters on the floor while remaining alert for anything slithering in the building. The blotches were centered _there_: she frowned. Why would — she looked up toward the beams that supported the roof, hearing a faint cooing; there were pigeons up there, which meant that that was —

"Shit," Mugen said, standing at her elbow and looking at the floor. "Damn birds."

_Okay_. Fuu turned to him, suppressing the sudden crazy urge to _laugh_: this was so — they hadn't been off the ship for half a day, and already their house had turned out to be infested with poisonous snakes, covered in bird crap, and threatening to fall down around their ears. "There was supposed to be a village near here, wasn't there?" she asked, cutting off the tears that were threatening. "Let's go find that."

—

She felt better once they discovered that the nearest village was close enough for her to be able to walk there and back in a morning, and she felt much better on discovering that there was something eminently familiar in the village — a gambling hall, as like to any she'd known in Edo or Kyoto, that this one could have been dropped inside Osaka without anyone being the wiser.

And, of course, the gambling hall was full of what Fuu had known well since before she was old enough to need to bind her chest: foolish men who were there to lose their money.

—

"Please, one more. My luck's going to turn, I know it is," the man said to Fuu, his calloused palms held open in entreaty.

"I already have all of your money," she told him, not unkindly, as she got ready to leave. "You don't have anything else." She looked over at Mugen. If nothing else, they'd be able to buy what they needed, and they wouldn't have to break into their savings to do it.

"My boat."

Fuu turned back toward the voice.

The man set his shoulders. "I have a boat," he repeated. "A good one."

She rolled the dice in her palm. They were good dice, she knew — from their weight, it was evident that they hadn't been tampered with — and the shape of them in her hand was comfortingly familiar. She knew them; the dice just _were_. There was nothing about them that was indefinite, no chance of false hope.

Fuu let them tap softly together in her hand before handing the dice back to the roller, and nodded at the man. "All right," she agreed. "All or nothing. My money, your boat."

He swallowed convulsively. Mugen muttered something dire under his breath that she ignored, kneeling at the head of the mat alongside him.

She yawned. She was so tired, and he'd be hungry sometime — for her part, she would have slept on the sand, and it felt like she'd never want food again — but Mugen deserved better than that.

"I'll get the money, you just get the hell out of here — "

"Place your bets!"

Fuu shoved the tiny mountain of ryu forward, as Mugen groaned beside her. The dice roller liked to put a little more of his back into it than she would've done, she thought: the man snapped the dice out from under his fingers, the white cubes tumbling as he caught them in the cup. "Odd," she said.

"Even," the man with the boat responded.

The roller plucked the cup away from the dice —

"Three-two, odd. The woman in pink wins."

Fuu scooped the ryu into her sleeve, the man's eyes on the gold as it disappeared. Somewhere, she felt a little pity for him; he had the same faraway look on his face that Mugen had had when Sara the goze had come so near to killing him, that same expression of a man who had just felt the ground give way under his feet as something he had known all his life had suddenly been proved wrong. Any other time, she might have been tempted to tell him to go home, and not to gamble away his boat.

But not today.

She watched the man get up and walk toward the door unsteadily, before standing up herself. "You coming? You should probably look at it to see if you're getting cheated." Fuu looked over at Mugen.

"What?" He frowned.

"Well, what am _I _going to do with a boat?" she asked. "I don't want to even look at another one as long as I live."

—

As the months went by, the house on the foothill began to turn from an abandoned building into a place where people lived.

—

That made thirty, by her count.

Fuu balled her hands into fists before putting them into the small of her back and stretching. It was no wonder all the farmers she'd seen looked like they did; this was an incredible amount of work, she thought. And she'd been lucky that Mugen had found this place, which hadn't been reclaimed by the forest yet — the area around the house was thick with weeds, but those were easier to clear than trees. All she'd needed to do was to clear the weeds, and turn the soil, and find the seeds, and plant them . . . it would be worth it when there were vegetables to eat, and if even half of these did well, there would be more than they needed. The sweet potatoes looked healthy enough, with the edges of the leaves traced round in a delicate purple. She wondered how sweet they were: if they had any luck at all, she'd be able to fatten them up a little. Mugen was _so_ thin, and even Jin —

Jin.

She dropped her trowel and slid to her knees between the rows of green kabocha plants, dirt grinding into the side of her face as she toppled over. Small curling tendrils were emerging from the leaves, she saw, and he was _gone_; the knowledge crept up, sly and insinuating through the pit of her belly. He was gone, and he'd never see how the dirt never came out from under her fingernails, and the shape of how he was gone seemed large enough to eat her alive —

She crawled to the side of the vegetable garden and retched, emptying herself of the sour stinging bile until her arms were shaking and gummy spittle hanging in strings from her mouth was all that was left.

"Fuu?" Mugen's voice carried back to her.

"Back here," she called out to him, wincing at how hoarse her voice was. She brought a handful of the water that she'd been using on the plants to her mouth, rinsing the sourness out. She spat carefully to the side of the plants, before using more of the water to wash off her face as he came around the side of the house. He held a string of fish in his hands.

"What're you doing?" He looked at her curiously, and she wondered how terrible she looked to him.

"Just weeding." _Thinking about how I'm going to get through the rest of my life, _she added mentally._ Any ideas? _"Help me clean those?" she asked instead.

He frowned, and she could see he wasn't entirely convinced but that he wasn't going to push the matter. "Yeah."

—

They fell into a routine in the evenings.

As soon as the sun went down, she would build up the fire and wait for Mugen to appear, and he would show up with something for her always in his hand. Usually, it was something for her to cook — though sometimes it was something completely unexpected like a packet of tea or a polished silver mirror; he'd even brought her a pair of chickens, once, their legs trussed together and carried clucking to her on a pole that he held over his shoulder. He never said where any of it came from, and she never asked. They'd eat something, watch the fire for a while she asked him questions she'd thought of during the day, and then he'd fall asleep while she washed out their bowls and banked the fire. In the morning, he was always gone by the time she woke.

Mugen had assumed the role of an oracle in her eyes, with the sheer volume of knowledge he had of what was necessary to survive in Ryukyu. When she'd said as much to him, he'd been surprised, as if it was a matter of course that he would know; and his aptitude for making _things_ surprised her as well. The day after he had brought the chickens to her, he'd stayed on land and put together a tiny house of sorts for them from wood they'd scavenged from the house. It would keep the chickens safe at night and there would be eggs, eventually, he said; she'd just liked the idea of company during the day when he was out on the water, and named them Tatsu and Kazu for their tendency to squabble over particularly fat bugs in the garden.

Fuu turned the cup in her hands, watching the fluted rim curl in on itself. The cup was undecorated clay, but still more elegant than her hands, these days; her nails were short and ragged, the skin round the edges peeling and rough with scrubbing. They looked like old woman's hands, she thought dispassionately. Once it would have — she pushed that thought away and took a resolute swallow of her tea. It didn't matter here how ugly her hands were.

On the other side of the fire, Mugen looked up from the flames to her. "Got something for you," he said.

She put the cup down. "You do?"

He gave her a crooked grin. "Not here. I'll bring it tomorrow."

"Thanks."

They were silent a long moment, as she thought about him. He'd never said anything to let her know what he was thinking, not since the moment they'd seen Jin fall in Nagasaki, but she knew it was there and that it was eating him from the inside out. It would be an act of compassion, to comfort him, and the idea that she could forget, even if it was only for a short time —

It would be easy, she knew, to tell him yes some night, when what she would mean was that her need had overwhelmed her better judgment.

Maybe it would be a good idea, she decided, to start keeping sake or that local stuff in the house to knock herself out, for nights when that yes would come easier.

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

Fuu shrugged. "I don't know. I'd like some edamame, if I can figure out how to grow it."

"Not what I meant," he said. "I meant — "

"I know what you meant." She reached behind her for the thin quilt she'd bartered some of Tatsu's eggs to have. "Are you going to be warm enough? There's an extra one if you want it."

Mugen shook his head. "He's gone."

"No. He isn't," she said. "He can't be."

"Bastard stuck him in the gut. You know how lucky he was to have lived through that once?" he asked. "Even if he didn't die right away, chances're good the wound went bad. And if it didn't, he killed a governor, Fuu. We were gonna be executed for less than that, remember?"

Her mouth set in a stubborn line. "You wouldn't give up that easy, and neither would Jin," she pointed out. "And I wouldn't let either of you go without at least saying goodbye."

He exhaled. "Sometimes — "

"What?"

Mugen's eyes flicked up to her. "Nothing. Get some sleep, willya?"

—

It was the next day that she realized _she_ was learning what was necessary to survive in Ryukyu.

—

Fuu caught the movement out of the corner of her eye, as she bent to pick up the melon that had fallen from her hands as she came down the steps from the garden.

She inhaled sharply, a current of fear shivering through her as she fought the sudden impulse to run, willing her heart to slow to its normal pace.

It lay next to the fire, a long liquid thread with cold yellow eyes; it raised its head and hissed, warning her away from the comfortable warmth.

Her eyes fell on the dying fire. It would go out if left as it was, and there would be the difficulty of building a new one with the green wood —

— and inside her she felt a spark of anger. This was her _home_; the snake had had to slither over the path she'd raked, over the floor she'd scrubbed, up to the fire she'd worked on so long to get it to burn —

"I'm not afraid of you," Fuu said out loud.

She took a step forward, the hoe comforting and solid in her hand. The snake hissed again, beginning to coil as her courage wobbled dangerously. It would be so, so easy to wait outside for Mugen to come back — he wouldn't think twice about it, he was used to saving her when she was too weak and_ useless_ to do it herself —

She clenched her teeth and severed the snake neatly in two, the blade of the hoe slicing through directly behind the head.

Fuu watched it for a moment, not daring to come closer, as the halves lay inert on the floor. She'd cut it in two, but it seemed so much less dead than the one Mugen had killed — she prodded it gingerly with the hoe, half expecting the snake to curl into angry life once more; the body rolled a little, but otherwise stayed still.

Emboldened, she slid the hoe blade under the head and picked it up: there was no way she was going to touch it herself — she carried it to the door and threw it off the edge of the path, the long body following after. It stayed still in the underbrush, and finally, she went inside, satisfied that the birds would do the rest of the cleaning up for her.

Mugen came in as she had built the fire back up, handing her a string of fish as he squinted at her. "You look different," he commented.

She smiled. "I had a good day."

—


	35. Chapter 35

Disclaimer: I don't own _Samurai Champloo _or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Neither do I own the haiku of Matsuo Basho (translation by R.H. Blyth, this chapter).

A/N: The history fangirl strikes again! The Noshima were the most successful branch of the Murakami, a family of pirates who controlled the sea between the islands of Honshu, Kyushu and Shikoku during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. Also, noro are the primary religious figures of the Ryukyuan indigenous belief system; all noro are female.

Shima is a less formal name for awamori, which is a tasty Okinawan distilled rice liquor.

And FarStrider? A term for superior beta skills. All the good stuff's hers, really.

_**Nenju**_

_XXXV. The scent of flowers in the evening_

He woke up disoriented. The ocean was still there, he could smell it, but it was further away; and the sailcloth screen was gone —

— he sat up automatically, looking for her, before he remembered.

Mugen got up quietly, the old planks soft underfoot. One groaned a little as he stepped on it, and he glanced over toward Fuu. She was still asleep. He saw with some worry that she'd curled in on herself, with her knees drawn up toward her chest; she'd started sleeping that way on the Dutch ship, after Nagasaki . . . she hadn't bothered to take her hair out of its knot the night before and the knobs of her spine were clearly visible between her neck and the collar of her kimono. She'd lost weight she hadn't had enough of to begin with, more than he had. He'd find something and make sure she ate all of it, he decided, even if it was nothing more than a mango — maybe he'd been too quick to get rid of that habu from the day before.

He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as he went down the hill. The path wasn't as overgrown as he would've expected it to be, for a house in that kind of disrepair. He guessed the Europeans had been using it — probably not recently, but the question of what they would've been using it for was _very_ interesting; when Maurits had said that European ships put in here to refill their casks, he'd had a hard time not laughing out loud at the idea that a ship seven days out of port would need water.

The Europeans had very definitely been here, though — he could tell that much just by looking at the boat. It wasn't exactly like the one Wen had, he thought. This one was bigger, stronger: the sails were worn threadbare enough for him to see the horizon through as it bobbed in the harbor, but their cloth hadn't come from around here. What the boat _did _look like was one of the small boats the Europeans used as a tender to the big ships, ferrying people and things from the ship to shore, or for short voyages; he'd seen them at Nagasaki and Saga, where they'd impressed him with their quickness. To find one here —

There was a skinny man standing on the beach, looking at the boat; squinting, Mugen recognized the man from the gambling hall the night before. The man was just _standing_ there, almost as if he was waiting for something — Mugen quickened his pace, the longsword a comforting weight on his back. If the man was there to make trouble, he was ready.

The man looked over at the sound of feet sliding through the sand toward him. "You're here."

"Oi." Mugen lifted his chin toward him. "What d'you want?"

The other man held out his hands, palm up. "Thought you'd be here earlier."

"I'm here now," Mugen said, patience beginning to fray. "You looking for me?"

The man nodded. "I wanted to know what you're gonna do with her."

"Not in a great mood this morning, so get lost."

The man ignored this, and turned back toward the water. "She needs more than one person to sail her," he said. "Five man crew works best."

"Hn." That had been, Mugen decided, the _broadest_ hint he'd ever heard; he'd been thinking that he'd need to walk down to the village for some shima to hear about this part of the island, but this . . . this might be worth a morning. Even if it turned out to be a waste of time, he'd learn something and be back to check on Fuu by the time the sun was overhead. "You got a name?"

"Shuri."

"You sure you want to be one of the five?" Mugen scratched himself leisurely as he thought, then pointed at a rocky outcropping on the horizon. "You get me from here out there without taking a sounding, and I'll think about it," he said. "But try screwing me over and I'll dump your ass out for the sharks to find." He laced his hands together behind his head and grinned unpleasantly.

The man shrugged. "Fair enough."

Once on board, Mugen leaned against the side as he watched Shuri take them out of the harbor, correcting course automatically to avoid the reef. Bad at gambling, but the man was a good pilot — unless he really did intend to try to kill him and take the ship back, he'd take the man up on his hint. The sails filled with a loud huff, cloth snapping taut as the ship picked up speed. "Where'd you get this?" he asked.

Shuri kept his eyes on the horizon. "Man who had your house before you, he used to be with the Noshima up north. He died maybe ten, twelve years ago — he didn't have family, so we split up his things among the village. I paid nine ryu for the ship," he said with some pride.

Mugen's eyebrows rose. He'd have to talk to Fuu about finding a place to hide their money — the sooner, the better. "How old was he? Been years since they were anything but daimyo's lapdogs."

The other man nodded. "He had bad luck," Shuri said. "Some of the people in the village think that house might be haunted."

"_Might_ be?"

"The Europeans have been using it — we found him on the path, so he didn't actually die inside the house," the other man said helpfully. "It's probably not, I wouldn't worry about it. You've had good luck so far!"

"Yeah."

"Anyway, you have a good ship. And your woman is generous." Shuri blushed lightly.

His woman — Mugen gave the skinny man a sharp look, before realizing the retort he'd been about to make was a _bad_ idea. "Mm."

"So, ah, have you thought about what you want to do with the ship? Good fishing around here."

Mugen gave him a crooked smile. "Only fish when I'm hungry," he told Shuri. "You said this is a Noshima ship — think I might like to try it out."

Shuri's eyes widened, as he shook his head. "They won't like it — they don't come this far south normally, but the Murakami are still allied to the Satsuma-han. Even if they're just some daimyo's dogs, as you say."

"Yeah, well, doesn't matter how many dogs you got if they don't have the stones to bark when they're out by themselves." The rock was coming up, Shuri bringing the ship up to circle behind it. "How deep's it through here?"

"Deep. You only have to worry about the bottom closer to shore."

"Hn." Mugen waved him away from the tiller; reluctantly, Shuri sat down with his back to the first mast as he took the skinny man's place.

The ship was wonderfully responsive, heeling obediently as Mugen took them south; he could feel the rudder as the ship came round, ocean flying by under the keel.

She was a good ship, good enough to take out on the open sea between the island and the mainland: and, he had to admit, Shuri was a good pilot. He knew the waters around the island, too, another plus. "All right, fine," Mugen said casually. "You can have a tenth of whatever we make, but piss me off and I'll kill you."

"You'll _kill_ me?"

"I don't like shit that pisses me off. Got a deal?"

Slowly, Shuri nodded.

"Good. Don't piss me off," Mugen said, pausing as a thought struck him. "Something that wouldn't piss me off would be to tell everyone you know, that the woman who won this ship off you shouldn't be bothered." He grinned wolfishly at the skinny man.

—

When Mugen went north after leaving them on Ikitsuki to see where Okuru was from, he had seen the most amazing things.

It had been _incredibly_ cold; until reaching the north in wintertime, he hadn't understood what cold was, he realized. Cold burned — almost like fire, but worse in a way. Cold crept in to curl round bones and shiver under clothes, and cold had a funny way of making people stop caring about how blue they were turning.

Cold was especially weird in how it made things change their nature.

He'd been walking around the docks, trying to stay out of the wind, when he saw it: it was a puddle, or would have been a puddle if the water in it hadn't been frozen into a thin sheet on the ground. He stepped on the edge and the ice fractured into countless small sharp fragments, their edges gone white as snow.

Watching Fuu, he was reminded of how brittle the ice had been.

It was unnerving to see her this calm; from what little Jin had told him about the time when he'd gone on that last raid with Mukuro, she had been anything _but_ calm when they'd seen the boat explode — she'd left the ronin and Kohza on the pier and gone searching for him on the beach. She'd known he wasn't dead . . . Mugen thought uneasily of her insistence that Jin was still alive. Fuu had the power to be able to call _him_ back from the crow men when they came: how could he say she wouldn't be able to tell if the ronin was alive or not? Especially now, after Deshima — and the other man wouldn't have gone easily, he thought.

There was another possibility he could think of, though; he checked the impulse to run up the hill, the hair prickling at the back of his neck. He'd never liked thinking about women's things —

How likely would it have been, that — if Jin was dead — the shogun's men would have gone to the trouble of giving him a proper funeral? The ronin had usually been insistent on doing the right thing, especially when it was someone who was important to him or to one of them; they'd spent an extra day in the mountains when it had been that boy from Jin's dojo, and Jin had gone with him to take care of Bundai's body the same day he'd found it. And if the shogun's men desecrated Jin's body after execution — he could see how the ronin could end up as a spirit, maybe even an angry one. Fuu might still feel the presence of his ghost, which was a very worrying thought.

Or, even worse, Jin could still be _alive_ in Nagasaki, with his spirit here, following Fuu — which would be like him; the bastard never did know when to give anything up — or she could have gotten separated from hers in the escape, her spirit staying with him. It would explain the amount of time she spent asleep, and the way she never really seemed to be there even when she was talking, if her spirit had been injured like that.

He shrugged as he reached the top of the hill. Whatever it was, it wasn't for him to screw around with — do it wrong, and the spirits might just get angrier. He'd ask around about the local noro, the next time he walked down to the village, or maybe when he talked to Shuri again.

Whether it was Jin's ghost or not, he couldn't look at her without seeing the empty space where the man should have been.

—

As it always did, no matter what or who he'd escaped from, life settled into a rhythm.

Unbelievably, not only did Shuri want to work for him, but the skinny man found four other men who were willing to sail with him for a share of whatever profits he made and who didn't mind a little smuggling: there was Iehisa, who was quiet about how he'd ended up in Ryukyu, but who'd come there from Shiwaku; there was stocky Ki with a face like a pumpkin, a cousin of Shuri's wife; and Shoshi and Gen, brothers from Tomigusuku, good sailors both who turned out to be very good carpenters as well. As soon as he found that out, Mugen put them to work building a tiny bathhouse for the house on the hill — there was a tub for bathing, but if either he or Fuu wanted to actually use it, the other wound up sitting on the beach or in the vegetable garden.

There was an additional side benefit to taking the men on to crew the ship — not only did he get the use of their labor on land, he heard from them what was happening in the village, often before anyone else knew it; so when one of the old women of the village died, Mugen was the first to have The Idea as to how he might be able to interest Fuu's spirit enough to bring it back.

—

Of course, there was the matter of convincing the men to haul it up the hill.

—

And of convincing her that it could be something she might like.

—

"What _is_ that thing?" Fuu gave him a dubious look, as Ki set his end down with a thump; Gen was panting after the climb up the hill, wiping his broad face with the tail of his ratty haori.

"It's a loom," Mugen told her.

"A what?"

"A loom — women use 'em to make cloth."

She sat down and gave the wooden frame an experimental poke with the tip of her finger, her eyebrows rising. "When you said you had something for me, I was thinking it would be something more — I don't know, fish?'

"We can get rid of it, if you don't want it," he said.

Behind them, Shuri groaned.

Fuu shook her head, still looking at the loom. "No — leave it for now," she said thoughtfully, a spark of interest in her eyes.

Mugen brought his hand up to rub his chin, fighting not to smile.

—

In the fourth month since they'd left Nagasaki, one of the Deshima ships anchored in the harbor.

—

Ki was the first one to see it, tapping Mugen on the shoulder and pointing to draw his attention to the speck in the harbor.

"Europeans!" Shuri brightened. "I hope they're here to trade — my wife has extra basho-fu she's been saving, they'll want that — " Shoshi started arguing with him then about what the cloth would be worth, as Mugen stopped listening to the two men.

"How often do they come here?" he asked Ki, who was still watching the harbor.

The heavier man shrugged. "Together? Twice a year. On their own? Maybe three or four times. Depends on what's happening on the mainland — couple years ago, they were here six times."

"Huh." They had a nice cargo of silk they'd traded a hold of raw sugar for, they might be able to trade well for that — Mugen changed course for home.

They moored the ship a short distance away from the Europeans, almost close enough to shore that he could have walked to the beach; Shuri almost fell into the water in his haste to get off the ship and to his house, sprinting into the village as soon as his feet touched sand, the rest of the crew following behind.

Mugen stayed on the beach, watching the sailors from the galleon labor to bring a jolly boat through the surf; one of the men, a man sitting in the prow of the crowded jolly boat, caught sight of him and waved until they beached.

The man jumped out, coming directly up to him: Mugen laced his hands together behind his head, comfortingly close to the hilt of the longsword, as the man grinned. "You are Mugen? I have something for you," he said, in thickly accented Japanese, before turning to look over his shoulder to where the boat was being unloaded.

Mugen frowned. What the hell — he walked down the beach to see what it was that Jouji'd thought worth sending on. Wasabi? A teapot? Whatever it was, there needed to be an extra person to carry it. _Hell of a teapot, then._

There was a smaller figure standing up in the boat, the dark gold of the kimono dull against the green; the figure looked up, as Mugen felt recognition wash over him — he waited, as a sailor hoisted the person out onto the beach.

"Mugen," Yatsuha said.

—

Fuu took one look at them and hurried off with a significant look at Mugen, muttering something about the garden; as soon as he heard her in the distance, scolding the chickens for fighting, he turned to the ninja. "You missed me that much?"

"I'm pregnant."

His mouth had gone dry despite the tea, which was churning quietly in his stomach. _Oh, shit._ "You sure?" he asked.

Yatsuha gave him a sour look.

"Don't mean_ that_," he said, and shrugged. "I always thought it was hard to tell, in the beginning."

"'In the beginning'? I haven't seen you for months."

"When's it . . . " Mugen trailed off awkwardly; maybe Jouji wasn't so dumb, he thought to himself.

Her eyes narrowed. "In _Nagasaki_," Yatsuha said, voice frosty.

"Yeah, I got that much. When's it gonna be here?"

"What?"

He crossed his arms. "I don't know, all right? Weren't many women having babies where I grew up."

"Oh," she said. "Months yet. Four — maybe five."

Mugen sat back down, relieved. "Good. It's not gonna be much, but it'll have a roof. And I want a place for a bath — I'm not running up here every time I want one," he said. "We can stay here until it's built, Fuu won't mind."

Yatsuha stared at him. "What — look. I'm just having a baby. We're not getting married."

"Didn't say we should." He shrugged. "You don't want to, that's fine by me. But that kid's as much me as it is you, and it's not gonna live like I did. Besides — you ain't here 'cause you heard Ryukyu was a great place for the shogun's men, 'm I right?"

She shook her head, shoulders drooping, and for the first time since she'd walked up the hill, he took in how _tired_ she looked. Her body was fuller than he remembered it; her waist thicker and her breasts larger, but her face was gaunt and drawn, the veins in her hands evident through the translucent parchment of her skin. "I'm not one of them, any more."

"Because of the baby?"

"No." Yatsuha smiled. "I'd be a disgrace to the family, but that's not unusual for ninja. It was that the girl escaped, and you did too. I didn't fight you when I should have — you and I weren't discreet enough, either, that didn't help. So, I'm here with the two of you." She rubbed her arms as if she was cold.

Mugen opened his mouth to ask, then shut it again. If he didn't ask, then maybe — "You know what you want to do next?" he asked her instead.

"Han are always looking for people," she said bleakly. "Satsuma-han especially — I'd probably have to leave the baby with you and the girl."

"Her name is Fuu," he said, without rancor. "You should stay here until the baby comes, and decide what to do then."

"Fuu." She nodded. "I'd like to do that. Thank you."

He grunted and reached over to pull a quilt off the neat stack Fuu had piled against a post, handing it to her. "Yeah." Mugen got to his feet and walked over toward the engawa. "Get some sleep."

She was already wrapping it around her shoulders as she sagged to the floor. "I will."

"Yatsuha?"

"Hm?" The ninja opened her eyes.

"The man we were with — you know what happened to him?"

She shook her head. "I saw him being run through. After he fell, my father and his men handed him over to one of the shogun's counselors and his footmen," Yatsuha said. "I thought he was dead. I'm sorry."

"Yeah. That's what I thought you'd say."

He left her there and climbed up the steps to the garden, where Fuu was pulling weeds out from around the plants. She looked up, brushing the dirt off her hands as he walked over. "When I was little, my mother used to tell me seaweed was good for gardens," she said lightly. "I can't remember if there was a special kind she looked for, or if anything would work."

Mugen squatted next to her. "Couldn't tell you," he said. "How much did you hear?"

"Most of it, I think," she said, giving him a rueful smile. "I should have gone down to the beach."

"I would've told you anyway."

"She's angry. I can't blame her, either."

He frowned. "What're you talking about?"

Her eyebrows rose, as she began stripping a weed of its leaves, shredding them into a neat pile. "You remember when we were in — oh, I don't even know any more. All those places are starting to blend in together — where that boy picked my pocket?"

"Yeah." Mugen snorted. "He was a crappy thief."

"I wonder sometimes what happened to his mother. Did I ever tell you she was sick?" Fuu shrugged. "Probably not. He was so _angry_ — he was angry that we didn't have more money, angry that those yakuza were trying to take it — angry at everyone. Except he wasn't really angry, you know."

He gaped at her — this was even _more_ random than he was used to, from her. "Eh?"

"He was scared," she told him, as if it were obvious. "He thought that he should be able to help his mother, but he couldn't. People do stupid things when they're scared, Mugen — sometimes they end up driving the ones they need the most help from away. Give her some time."

"Hm." Grimacing, Mugen stuck his finger in his ear, as he turned that thought over. That . . . wasn't so dumb, really.

"Anyway, it'll be nice to have another woman to talk to," she said and grinned, making her look fifteen again. "Otherwise, there's just the chickens, and that makes me sound _crazy_."

"Yeah, I wouldn't worry. It's not the birds that make you sound crazy."

She flicked a piece of dirt at him, giggling. "Jerk," she told him affectionately.

Mugen gave a huff of amusement, watching her calloused hands as she pulled weeds from around a fat melon. The springtime sun was agreeably hot on his back, the warmth feeling like it was seeping through him into his bones; the last time he could remember being this warm, they were in Nagasaki —

"She was there when they took him away," he said abruptly.

Fuu shook her head, the grin wiped from her face as she stared at the vine. "He wouldn't die that easily."

"Would've heard something by now if he was alive," he told her. "Jouji'd have got word to us."

She exhaled, closing her eyes. "Mugen, _don't_."

"It's been months, Fuu. You gonna spend the rest of your life waiting for him?"

"_Yes_," she told him. "If waiting is all I can do for him, then that's what I will do."

—


	36. Chapter 36

Disclaimer: I don't own _Samurai Champloo _or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Neither do I own the haiku of Matsuo Basho (translation by R.H. Blyth, this chapter), nor the _Precepts of Kato Kiyomasa_.

A/N: Last time pays for all, I think. Thanks, kids; I love every one of you.

Much love to FarStrider, beta extraordinary.

_**Nenju**_

_XXXVI. Is still tolling the bell_

The first time that Jin had died, the sun had been setting: the sky gone the color of ripe peaches, the ocean a quicksilver streak stretching to the horizon.

"A promise is a promise," Mugen told him. "It's time to settle up."

"So it would seem."

He'd never know which of them had struck first, or even remember the act of bringing his father's katana up: he felt the blade strike home against Mugen's sword, and the dizzying sensation of something _tearing_ where Kariya had run him through. He slumped over, the Ryukyuan's face drawn with the same blinding pain in his side.

"Would you look at us?" Mugen told him, as a wave of heat washed over him, his vision condensing to a single point —

— Jin heard himself answering the other man as if from far away, as he thought: _I am dying_ —

— as he fell to the hard packed surface of the beach, world gone dark and he'd surrendered himself to it willingly, before the light was in his eyes and the Ryukyuan was stirring next to him.

—

The second time that Jin died, the sun was rising, sky gone the color of blood.

"We have to get out of here," Mugen called out to him from the direction of the boats, as he cut down another of the shogun's men; _use your weight_, Mariya-dono's voice lectured over the top of the Ryukyuan. _Find your center and follow the sword_ —

— he slashed over, then down, registering briefly the man in front of him as he fell to the wooden planks, face gone blank as a puppet with cut strings —

— another taking his place, as he drew the katana to the side: _be aware always of where the momentum will take you_, Mariya-dono told him as the man slumped over. He looked up, ready for the next, as the shogun's men readied themselves for another onslaught —

"Quit screwing around," Mugen shouted. "Let's _go_!"

— _ah, the boat_.

Jin turned, cutting his way through the crowd as he made his way to where the Ryukyuan was climbing into the boat. There were enough of the dead lying on the pier that they would slow the shogun's men, long enough for them to be halfway to the ship by the time the government reached the water's edge.

In front of him, Mugen stiffened, his eyes on something at the far end of the pier; he shouted something as Jin turned. It was the old ninja, the one they'd met on the road from Mihara and the twins, moving as quickly toward them as a bird —

— overhead, crows wheeled through the sky, carking harshly. Jin looked back toward the boat. Was his life worth it, if he could slow them long enough to give Mugen a chance to get her away safely?

_Yes._

He smiled at her; she would never forgive him, he knew, but she'd be _alive_.

"Take care of Fuu," he said to Mugen, and gave the boat a shove to get it on its way.

Then the man was on him: he brought the katana up, blocking the blow, as the strike of metal on metal rang out.

Panting, Jin spared a glance behind him — the boat was out in the middle of the harbor, the rowers pulling for the ship. The government men had their attention focused on him; it was a matter of moments before they noticed the boat was gone and Fuu and Mugen with it, but he'd buy as much time for their escape as he could.

There were more than he could kill, he knew, but he owed a death, anyway.

The ninja attacked again, and he parried the blow —

— as pain and heat _bloomed_ in his side.

Jin looked down; there was a blade protruding from under his ribs, bright blood coursing down the metal.

The fat ninja stopped, wiping his kodachi on his sleeve as he watched Jin drop to his knees. The man looked up as the blade was pulled out, and the ninja who had run Jin through from behind walked around; they began talking about taking him to the shogun's counselor, a man named Kuroda, debating whether or not Jin would die on the way as the world went to darkness —

_Time to settle up._

—

In the first day after he was taken prisoner, Jin woke to find himself inside a cell and a stranger tending the wound in his side.

He closed his eyes, willing himself to feel the touch of small hands combing his hair; the man finished wrapping bandages round his middle and chuckled. "Good enough," the man said. "I don't _think_ you'll collapse in the middle of being interrogated — lucky for you the counselor dislikes torture. Physical kind, anyway."

—

He was so _tired_.

He was so tired, and it would have been so _easy_ to give in, to tell them whatever they wanted, anything they wanted.

Jin's head ached. Every phrase was laden with meaning, with Kuroda's intent scrutiny, and even the slightest slip would mean they were another step closer to finding them; every word hung like a stone around his neck, and he was so tired, and they were gone and he was alone —

The door clanged shut, with a sound like dirt being piled over it.

—

In the first few months, Jin told himself he could wait.

He began sleeping as much as he could; he still slept lightly, but in a place where such a large amount of nothing happened, sleep was the only thing he could do. His dreams were vivid, as full of color and sound and _life_ as his cell was not.

He dreamed of arguing with Mugen over how to train flying squirrels to speak.

He dreamed of being a small sleepy boy at the dojo, Mariya-dono carrying him toward his futon.

He dreamed of walking along a riverbank with Yukimaru, the night sky lit above them by burning men falling into the water.

He dreamed of Fuu soft and responsive under him, her back arching as she moved with him.

He dreamed.

—

Sometime in the fifth month of his imprisonment, Jin realized that he was slowly going insane.

He realized too that he didn't mind, all that much.

—

"I didn't tell them," he said.

Fuu looked up from the small bundle she held to her breast, as she sat inside the cell. "You'll die," she told him with great equanimity, before holding the infant up for him to see. "I named him Chozaburo, after your father. Do you think he'll fail too?"

The bundle cooed as he took it from her. There was a cloth covering the child's face; Jin drew it back — the child was going to _suffocate, _he had to do something — only to find another layer of cloth, then another and another. Feverishly, he unraveled the wrappings as Fuu looked on with a smile, swaddling clothes falling at his feet, unwinding them completely to find that the infant was gone.

He raised his head as the last of the cloth slipped through his fingers, soft as plum blossoms; his breath caught in his throat as Yukimaru cocked his head to one side. "Can you do anything right?" the younger man asked, getting to his feet and walking toward him. "Even _Ogura_ was better than you are."

"I — " Fuu was gone, if she had ever really been there. He could smell the thick copper reek of blood on Yukimaru, the rotten meat smell of death and decay coming off him in waves; teeth were clearly visible through his cheek.

"You'll be as dead as I am," the other man said, his mouth close to Jin's ear, and it was all he could do not to keep from skittering backwards into the bars. "As Shishou. What a waste you are — he should've given the Mujuu to anyone but you."

"Yukimaru — " Jin whispered, misery twining cold fingers through his gut.

"You'll die," the corpse repeated, grinning. "But it's going to take _such_ a long time, Jin-nii."

—

Kuroda watched, his broad face impassive as the unseeing man inside the cell muttered to himself.

"He's been like that for a day, sir," the guard told him anxiously. "We didn't know if he was talking to us, but then Hasegawa heard him say something about the Hand of God, and we knew he had some connection to the Christians, so we thought he had information — I hope we acted correctly in telling you."

The shogun's counselor nodded, his eyes shifting for a moment from the huddled figure to the guard. "Yes," he said. "You're young, it's hardly surprising you wouldn't know of the Hand of God."

"Is he one of the Christians, sir?"

Slowly, Kuroda shook his head. "No. He was not," he said. "The Hand of God was a kenjutsu master. _The_ kenjutsu master — there was no one living who could kill him."

The guard looked back at Jin. "Did he know the Hand of God?"

Kuroda frowned, but did not reprimand the guard for his curiosity; it would keep them on their toes, he thought — "The last time I saw the Hand of God, he agreed to kill this man. That was four years ago: this man is still alive, and the master has not been seen since that time."

The guard's eyes widened. "Do you think he killed him?" he asked, then caught sight of the disapproving expression on the stocky man's face. "My apologies, sir — I don't mean to question you."

The shogun's counselor grunted, his face gone remote once again. "I think you should remember that this is a very dangerous man," he said repressively. "Even now."

"Should we inform you, the next time?"

Kuroda nodded. "Report to me on what he says. And if he comes out of this, tell me. Who knows?" He chuckled. "If nothing else, he could entertain me at shogi."

—

"What did I teach you?" Mariya-dono asked.

"You're not there," Jin answered tiredly. "None of you are. You'll be gone soon. I just have to wait long enough."

"Really?" The older man's eyebrows rose. "You're a great lord, then, that you can be rude to any guest, no matter how imaginary?"

The rusty chuckle coming from his own throat surprised Jin; it sounded like the creaking of a door, but it _was_ a chuckle.

"Hn." His shishou looked around the cell with interest. "They've decided to keep you. How very interesting."

"Mm?"

"If you were not worth keeping, you'd have been dead for months and your head would be rotting on a pike," Mariya-dono pointed out. "Really, Jin, I expected better from you. I would never have made you heir to the Mujuu, had I known you could become this dull-witted. What are the two greatest weapons you have? You learned this even before you learned to count beyond your fingers."

"My sword and my mind," Jin whispered.

"Your sword and your mind. Exactly." His guest rubbed his thumb over a rough place on the iron bars, tsking with disgust at the corroded metal. "You may not have your sword, but you still have your mind. Or all its pieces, at any rate."

Jin was silent.

"This will not last forever," his shishou told him, holding up his hand to show him the red-brown stain on his palm. "Be patient. Learn what there is to be learned."

—

Sometime in the second year of his imprisonment, Jin slowly began to put his pieces together.

—

"So," Kuroda said, as he moved his pawn. "Your guards tell me you've decided to live."

"Do they?" Jin answered, not raising his eyes from the game set between them. "I was not told of this."

The shogun's counselor laughed. "Still making up your mind?"

Jin picked up a knight in his long fingers, moving it carefully instead of answering.

"Hm." Kuroda scratched his scalp. "The girl and the criminal are hardly worth dying for — her father was a traitor to this country, and it's no secret the criminal threatened to kill you himself. I'm sure by this time, they've forgotten all about you. Why would you be loyal to people like that, who left you here to rot?"

Jin tucked his hands into his fraying sleeves, absorbed in studying the board.

"I'm sure they think of you often. They might even talk about how noble you were, sacrificing yourself for them. Who knows," the stocky man said, voice sly. "Maybe she even forgets and calls him by your name when his head is on her pillow."

"Hn."

Kuroda eyed him, then slid a silver general toward the side. "Your move. What will you do?"

"'Having been born into the house of a warrior, one's intentions should be to grasp the long and the short swords and to die,' Jin told him, moving the knight in for promotion.

The shogun's counselor saw that his king was in check; Kuroda crossed his arms over his chest. "You're so ready to die?" he asked, as he would ask again, and again over in the months that followed.

His answer, as always, was a bleak smile.

—

His first thought as they crossed the courtyard was that, somehow, it was _snowing_.

The air was full of swirling flakes, the thick smell of fire in the air. It was summer, he thought, appalled; he couldn't have missed a full season, he couldn't have — The guards on either side of him paid the snow no attention, hurrying him across from the wing of the building that contained his cell toward the room where he met the shogun's counselor for shogi — he put his hand out, snow landing on his outstretched palm.

Instead of the icy sting he was expecting, there was nothing; Jin rubbed the pads of his fingers together, smearing the flakes into a dull gray streak over his skin. It was _ash_, he realized.

They walked past a fire laid in the center of the courtyard, and now he saw footmen feeding scrolls and record books into the flames, too quickly for the fire to burn everything clean; the stones of the courtyard were becoming sooty with the charred fragments, his feet sliding on the slickness.

The guards marched him through the courtyard, into Kuroda's room. The table was not set for shogi, covered instead with paper and inkstones and — Jin caught sight of what was on the table, sitting amid the clutter, as his heart began to thud like a war drum inside his chest. It wasn't possible, after all this time —

The older man made a notation in his ledger, a quick scrawl before looking up at his prisoner. "You're very fortunate," Kuroda said, the familiar sardonic edge to his voice. "We're letting you go. The shogunate has no use for someone like you." He nodded to the guards. "Once you have broken his hands, return the swords to him."

"Break them, my lord?"

The shogun's counselor nodded absently, as he ran his finger down a list. "There are few enough people who play shogi well," he said. "But neither do I want him able to use a sword again."

—

In the end, the pain was not as bad as he'd thought it would be.

It was, in fact, _worse_.

—

They left him at the bottom of the bridge leading to Deshima, cradling his wounded hands against his chest.

The old wooden bridge had been replaced, he saw, one of stone taking its place; Jouji had been busy, he thought, as the distant buzz of people came out from the gate.

He ignored them, focusing instead on staying aware of the world around him through the haze blurring the edges of his vision. There was excited chatter, voices ebbing and flowing around him, then the familiar deep boom as Jouji's face peered down at him. The European looked appalled — Jin wondered how horrifying he looked, a moment before losing consciousness.

—

He woke to find the firefly assassin tending his wounds, Jouji hovering anxiously at his shoulder. "I've given him as much of the syrup of poppies as I can without killing him, but his hands — " the man said, as Jin tried to remember his name. "At least there were only two that broke the skin. He'll have some use once they heal, but he'll never draw a sword again."

"Can you reset the bones?" Jouji asked. "If they're — "

The assassin shook his head. "There's no way to know how much damage was done." He picked up Jin's hand, beginning to bandage the twisted fingers; there was a dull throb there, enough to rouse him from sleep, but not enough to keep him awake.

—

"The shogun is dead," Jouji told him.

The firefly assassin was nowhere to be seen, the European trader pouring the tea for both of them; Jin sat openly in the chief factor's house, after sleeping for what the man told him was a day and a half.

"He was succeeded by his brother, Tsunayoshi, who is . . . " Jouji frowned into his cup. "A very different person. I'm afraid he will be most challenging for my successor."

"Your successor?" Jin carefully grasped the tea in his bandaged hands, before noting that they were steadier than they had been. He took a sip, blinking at the sweetness; the other man had insisted on adding a generous amount of sugar.

"Yes. I should have been replaced a few years ago, but I managed to persuade the directors I should be kept on. I will miss this country," Jouji said wistfully. "I've grown accustomed to this life."

"Hn." Jin gave him a faint smile.

Jouji raised an eyebrow at him and grinned. "Yes. I go to Batavia, next — poor Inuyama, I've convinced him to come with me. Or the shogunate has. Either way, we leave in a matter of months, once someone is chosen by the directors and makes his way out here," he said. "But the shogun — things were lax, even before you three arrived here, but they became much worse in the last year when he became ill. He hadn't named an heir, so . . . he managed to disappoint many people before he died: maybe choosing his brother was a way to atone for that, I don't know. We should be fine — the shogun has already expressed an interest in meeting us, and as it is, you are fortunate. One of the Takata vassals has already been ordered to suicide, for misgovernment, and from what I hear, it's believed that he was the first of many."

"I see."

Jouji nodded to himself, smiling faintly. "I take it you don't plan to stay, new shogun or not."

"I'm too late, for what I am — I don't belong here."

"Then this is goodbye," Jouji said. "His ship will come to meet you halfway, so you'll see him soon — it will be a little longer to see her, but you'll arrive."

"Ah." Jin smiled.

Jouji chuckled. "Tell them . . . " He shrugged. "Just tell them."

"I will." There was the comforting click of beads from the nenju at his wrist, as familiar to him as the polished floor at the Mujuu where he'd received it; Jin pulled the prayer bracelet off, handing it to an astonished Jouji. "Here."

"But this is yours — "

Jin shook his head. "I have what I need."

—

He waited, scrubbing a hand through his hair, as Jin turned to face him.

"Mugen," he said by way of greeting.

Life in Ryukyu had agreed with Mugen: he was still lean and wiry, but he was no longer the same starveling creature he'd met in the Edo teahouse. He'd filled out — his arms were thicker, probably due to life aboard ship, and the sharp bony knees were surrounded by heavy muscle. The tattooed wrists were the same, though, as was the scarred cheek and the wild hair.

And, of course, the personality.

"You look like shit, fish face." Mugen said, his voice slightly rough. "You dead?"

Jin shook his head. "No."

The Ryukyuan grunted, his eyes moving to the bandages. "What happened?"

"They were broken."

Mugen drew in a quick, hissing breath before nodding. "She'll be happy, anyway," he said, before raising his voice. "Oi, Shuri — turn this piece of crap around."

"What?" The skinny sailor jerked around, keeping hold of the tiller while staring incredulously at Mugen.

"Home, dumbass."

"Aw, man!"

"Pissing me off, Shuri — I'm starting to wonder if Iehisa would make a good pilot," Mugen warned, the other sailors beginning to laugh as the skinny man grumbled and did what he was told. Mugen subsided, but quietly kept his eye on Shuri; Jin realized the Ryukyuan was —

"This is _your_ ship," Jin said, as Mugen nodded.

"Started out Fuu's," the Ryukyuan said. "She won it off Shuri, there — could've told him don't gamble against women, because you're going to lose your ass." He rocked back on his heels.

"She won it?"

Mugen grinned. "I wanted to kill her when she made that bet with him — knows her dice, though: she won it off him in one throw, and turned around and gave it to me because she doesn't like boats."

Jin chuckled.

"Anyway, almost there." The Ryukyuan pointed at a green mass rising out of the ocean. "I'll drop you off — we should be able to reach the mainland in a day, day and a half. Once you're on the beach, there's a path that goes up the hill — go up the path, and you can't miss it."

"Thank you."

Mugen cocked an eyebrow. "I'd take you up there, but then . . . don't think I wanna stay to see it."

—

Jin climbed the hill, the path scuffed and worn underfoot. He looked around him, hoping to see some sign of her presence: this was the path _she _used, he thought. When she walked this way, these were the trees she saw, the same rocks that crunched underfoot.

There was a clacking sound coming from the comfortable-looking house at the top of the hill, as he reached the end of the path. Most of the screens had been pushed open, away from the wooden posts that supported the low tile roof; the house angled round a small, tidy courtyard, a stone wall at one end with what looked like a tiny fruit tree blooming extravagantly in a tub against it.

The clacking grew louder as he crossed the courtyard, the level ground kinder to his body. It had been so long since he'd walked any distance, he realized, his stomach gone to knots; she couldn't want him the way he was, how could she, he was useless and weak —

He froze, the step up squeaking loudly as he put his weight on it. It was audible even over the noise of the house, the clacking coming to an abrupt halt.

"Mugen?" she called. "Are you back already?"

Jin climbed the next step, stepping onto the engawa; she was seated in front of a large wooden frame with an oblong of cloth stretched inside it, her back to him. She wore a brown kimono for working, her hair pulled back untidily and the collar drooping low between her shoulder blades, and she was so _beautiful_ that it hurt.

"Mugen?" She was weaving, he saw; she finished doing something to the cloth, standing up slowly as she twisted round —

— and looked directly at him.

For a long moment in which he heard only the sound of the ocean and the beating of his own heart, they stared at each other, her eyes gone wide and dark. It was impossible to move; he opened his mouth, knowing that any words he could have found were as nothing —

— then, as she began to sink to the floor, the moment was gone and he moved to catch Fuu: they ended in a huddle on the wooden planks, her mouth pressed to his temple and his thighs against her hip. "Jin," she said.

Her wooden shuttle dangled off the edge of the dark indigo cloth, the loom forgotten.

"Your _hands_ — "

"It's nothing," he said patiently, feeling dissatisfied with how this was going. This . . . was not how he was supposed to find her; she was supposed to throw herself at him, he'd catch her, he'd take her to bed and then he'd go find the Ryukyuan, to thank him for getting her here and then to beat him soundly for setting her up in a house where _anyone_ could find her, though he was willing to compromise on the last part to giving him a good kicking. "They're not important. What — where does Mugen sleep?"

She gave Jin a distracted look, still holding his hands as if they were made of glass. "Mugen? At home, unless he's at sea. I haven't seen him for a few days."

"He's not living here?"

"No. This is my house," she said. "_Your_ house now, too."

"Ah." She was older than he remembered her, sharper, as if he would be able to feel the long angular edge of her bones if he touched her cheek. Slowly, he brought his hand up to brush the inside of his wrist against the fluttering at the base of her throat; she closed her eyes as he leaned forward to press his lips there.

"I missed you," she whispered.

She swallowed hard, her hands threaded into his hair, her breath quick and soft on his skin. He bent toward her, as careful as a courtier — and at the instant he touched his mouth to hers, at that instant, he realized it was not Ryukyu he had come to so much as it was the country that was Fuu.

—

Slowly, the world unfolded around them again, as she leaned into him and languorously pulled away. "_Um_," she said.

"Hn," he agreed and kissed her mouth.

She cuddled against him, her breathing evening out as she reached up to tug the leather tie away from where it hung drunkenly in his hair; he watched, amused, as her eyes fluttered closed with tiredness, then sprang open again as she fought against sleep.

"Go to sleep," he soothed, feeling the strong pull of the comfortable futon.

She tugged the quilt up over them both. "Will you be here when I wake up?"

"Ah." Jin pressed his lips to the soft hair at her temple. "Always." He waited until she fell asleep, then closed his eyes.

—

He woke to find that the space next to him was empty; he blinked, looking up — she sat in front of a silver mirror, the long pins for her hair in a tray in front of her.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey." She looked over at him.

He rolled onto his side, watching her, waiting —

Fuu began to comb her hair, long careful strokes through the rich chestnut strands. "He thought you were dead," she said, her voice stilted. "When you — when the shogun's men were there, and we didn't see you, he thought they'd killed you. They took you away."

"Ah." He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders; his hands throbbed, a dull pulse of pain that no longer mattered. "Did you?"

She put the comb down, looking at his reflection. "No." Her hands came up to touch his through the bandages, cupping them tenderly. "I _couldn't_."

Jin nodded.

"It feels like I'm dreaming," she said, and smiled. "A really good dream — you know, I've never seen you look _that_ smug."

"Hm?" He bit the inside of his cheek to stifle the pleased grin that threatened to spill over.

She shook her head and grinned. "See? I can't even remember what I was talking about, now that you're here."

"Ah. Mugen," he prompted.

She chuckled. "You won't believe me, unless you see it."

He cocked an eyebrow in enquiry.

"_Yatsuha_." Fuu chortled, her eyes alight with what he recognized as sheer naughty_ glee_.

His other eyebrow shot up alongside the first in surprise. "The ninja?"

She nodded, grinning, as she twisted round inside the circle of his arms to look directly at him. "She got here four months after we did," she said, her hands coming up loosely around his waist. "And then — "

"And then?" Jin pulled her closer, resting his chin on the top of her head. Her hair smelled of ginger and sweet fruit; he closed his eyes, content to breathe her in.

"Another four months after that, their first baby."

His eyes snapped open. "Baby?" He stepped back a little, just enough to look into her face as her laughter bubbled over.

"A little girl — Yatsuha named her Nadeshiko. And by the way, this makes you an uncle, apparently," Fuu added. "I keep looking around to see who Yatsuha's talking to, when she calls me Auntie in front of her."

"A baby . . . "Jin sat down abruptly on the rumpled futon and tugged Fuu onto his lap, as warm and light as sunlight against him. He used his forearms to adjust her so that she could rest against his shoulder, her heavy chestnut hair a silky river over his arm. "You said, 'their _first_'?"

She nodded, giggling, as his eyes widened. By all the gods —

"How many?" he said, hardly daring to ask.

"Two so far. The baby is Izumi — another girl — but Yatsuha's pregnant," she said. "Again. And she's in the stage now where _everything_ makes her sick. I've been making so many things with ginger for her that I think it's soaking into my skin."

There was no resisting it; he laughed until the tears came, lying back on the wrinkled bedding. The thought of Mugen surrounded by a tribe of squabbling daughters — all of whom would eventually grow to look exactly like him, he had no doubt —

Fuu rolled off him, smiling, and leaned her head on her palm as she lay on her side against him. She ran her hand down over his chest, over his ribs and the sharp ridge of his hips; her eyes were thoughtful as her fingers traced the line of his bones, before splaying her hand over his belly. "You're so _thin_," she said. "I think I'm going to feed you until you can't move."

"Mm." He touched the curve of her hip. "Until I can't move?"

"Until you can't move," she agreed. "As a matter of fact, I don't think I want you to get up for the next month. Maybe two. We'll see."

A short huff of amusement escaped him. "I've slept too long already," he said, but nudged the pillow over to share it with her, curling around her body, his eyelids growing heavy.

She smiled and pressed a kiss against his shoulder. "Jin?"

"Mm?" He closed his eyes, content to drowse. They had more than enough time, he decided, a lifetime — he'd find Mugen later.

"Welcome home," she said, and he smiled.

—

-fin-


End file.
